


Departed

by papesdontsellthemselves



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, DW Sprace is endgame, Domestic Violence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, Jack Kelly is an idiot, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Pancakes, Slow Burn, Spot/Race centric tho, ok I'm done tagging, uhh Spot works at a Tae Kwon Do studio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-06-30 12:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15751635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papesdontsellthemselves/pseuds/papesdontsellthemselves
Summary: “Race? What the fuck.” Spot said, his voice coming out a little louder than he meant it to.  Antonio “Racetrack” Higgins, his best friend of five years, was standing outside his apartment door, nursing a bloody nose and several hand-shaped bruises on his exposed arms.Race locked eyes with Spot, his gaze tired and annoyed, “Canya not raise your voice? My head hurts.”  He mumbled, then shouldered past Spot and proceeded to kick off his shoes.





	1. Don't Come A-Knockin' on my Door

It had been a long fucking day. Well, a long fucking week really between midterms and work at the Tae Kwon Do studio he instructed at, but today especially had dragged on and Spot Conlon was ready to take a hot shower and sleep. But of course, nothing was ever that simple. His evening plans were quickly squashed by the sound of weak knocking on his apartment door. Spot groaned and pulled himself up from his comfortable position on the couch, reluctantly unbolting the door and opening it. He was about to reprimand the person knocking for bothering him at eleven o’clock on a Friday night, but hastily shut his mouth when he took in the person in front of him.

“Race? What the fuck.” Spot said, his voice coming out a little louder than he meant it to. Antonio “Racetrack” Higgins, his best friend of five years, was standing outside his apartment, nursing a bloody nose and several hand-shaped bruises on his exposed arms.

Race locked eyes with Spot, his gaze tired and annoyed, “Canya not raise your voice? My head hurts.” He mumbled, then shouldered past Spot and proceeded to kick off his shoes. 

“Sorry,” Spot murmured, still trying to grasp the situation as Race gingerly laid himself on the couch, “But uh, you gonna tell me what happened?”

“No, I’ma sleep.” Race grunted.

“Racer, ya can’t just come to my apartment covered in bruises and blood and expect me not ta-”

“Sean, I know. I promise I’ll explain tomorrow, but I’m so exhausted and I really don’t wanna be awake right now.” Race said, his eyes already closed.

“Okay, but you are talkin’ tomorrow,” Spot said, finally moving away from the door, “Also, no sleep yet. Your face is bloody as fuck and you are not sleepin’ on my pillows like that.”

Race groaned and didn’t move, “Spottie…”

“Nope, c’mon, at least clean up,” Spot persisted, “You don’t even gotta get all the way up, just clean off ya face.”

There was a small pause and for a moment Spot wondered if Race had stubbornly started to fake sleep, then he heard a small, “Fine.”

Spot wet a paper towel in the kitchen sink, then quickly retrieved an extra pair of sweatpants from his bedroom. 

“Here,” he said, handing both things to Race, who took them lying down, “Clean off and get changed, I’ll grab ya some blankets.” 

Race didn’t reply and Spot watched for a moment as he pulled himself into a sitting position, wincing as he did so. He really did look like shit. Blood was covering the front of his shirt and there was a bruise on his jaw that Spot hadn’t seen before. 

“Spot, I uhh, I appreciate you checkin’ me out, but could I have some privacy?” Race said, a tired smirk coloring his features. 

“Oh,” Spot said, snapping out of his reverie, “Yeah, yeah sorry.” 

He left to dig some sheets out of the hallway closet and was just gathering a pillow when he heard a small whimper then, “S-spottie? Couldya help?” 

Spot turned to see Race with his jeans halfway off. The sweatpants were crumpled at his side. 

“My chest is kinda, uh, bruised and my abilities ta move are compromised…” He continued, not making eye contact with Spot. 

“Oh! Yeah, ‘course.” Spot said, making his way over to Race and sitting beside him. He carefully lifted Race’s legs into his lap and pulled his pants off completely, then began to pull the sweatpants onto his legs. 

When they reached his mid thighs, Race cleared his throat, “I can get ‘em from here.” He said, blushing slightly.

“Ya sure?” Spot asked as he watched Race struggle to pull them up farther, “Dude, lemme see your chest.”

Race paused his action, then swiftly pulled the sweatpants up the rest of the way, taking deep breaths after, presumably to stop the pain in his torso. 

He paused for a moment, toying with the hem of his shirt before shaking his head, “My chest is fine, well, not entirely fine, but no ribs are broken. I checked. Can I please jus’ sleep?”

Spot sighed, “Fine, I’ll stop houndin’ ya.” He studied Race’s face for a moment longer before standing and grabbing a discarded sweatshirt from the chair nearest to him and handing it to Race.

“Here, so you don’t gotta wear a bloody ass shirt all night.” Race took it, but made no move to put it on, “If ya need anythin’ in the night, just shout. Night Race.”

“Night, Spot.”

XXX

The next morning, Spot woke up to the sound of the coffee maker turning on. He climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweats. When he entered the kitchen, Race pulled another mug out of the cabinet. 

“You’re movin’ around better,” Spot observed, noticing that Race had changed into the sweatshirt he had given him the night before. 

Race only grunted in reply, busying himself in pouring coffee for the two of them. Once he was finished, he handed Spot a mug, then sat himself at the kitchen counter. Spot sat down across from him and worked on adding sugar to his cup. 

Spot startled slightly when Race spoke quietly, “It’s never gotten this bad before. I mean, she’s always been harsh in her words and maybe a slap here or there, but she was drunk and I was annoyin’ her I guess and next thing I knew she was comin’ at me with a bottle and...” He trailed off, closing his eyes to compose himself.

Spot looked at him in shock. Race could only be talking about one person- his girlfriend, Melissa. They had been dating for a little over a year and at first, their relationship had seemed perfect. But then, Race would stop coming to group hang-outs, and when he did come, he seemed nervous. He would leave early and never seemed to participate as much as he used to. Spot had suspected this was Melissa’s doing for a while, but he never could have imagined it going this far and never brought it up. Though, given Race’s current condition, he wish he had.

Race continued, “I dunno what to do, Sean. I haven’t been able ta breathe in that relationship for a while, but now I’m suffocatin’.”

“Break up with her, you don’t gotta stay in that situation.” Spot said, softly. 

Race looked up for the first time, fear evident in his eyes, “No! No I can’t-that would jus’ be..I mean she’d find me and- no I can’t.”

Spot’s eyes flicked down to Race’s hands, noticing for the first time that they were shaking. Race must have seen Spot looking, because he cleared his throat and gripped his mug tight enough to turn his knuckles white. 

“Alright,” Spot sighed, “We can talk more about this later, alright?” 

Race didn’t say anything, but he didn’t object, so Spot took that as a yes. 

“Are ya hungry? I could make pancakes.” Spot suggested. 

Race shrugged, then nodded, “With blueberries?” 

Spot scoffed, “‘Course. It’s not like ya’d eat ‘em without.” 

Race smiled slightly into his mug, “I hate how well ya know me.”

Spot chuckled lightly and said, “That’s jus’ the price of friendship, buddy,” before turning to his cabinets to get out the ingredients for the pancakes. It was mostly quiet for a few minutes while Spot cooked, save for the sound of their coffee mugs clinking and Race humming to himself. However, the comfortable quiet was interrupted by Race’s phone ringing.

“Shit,” Race muttered to himself.

“S’it Melissa?” Spot questioned, turning around to place the plate full of pancakes on the countertop.

“Yep,” Race said, distractedly. He sighed, then picked up the phone, standing up from his seat at the counter as he did so.

“Yeah?” Race said, meekly into the phone. Immediately, shouting could be heard from the other end of the phone and Spot watched in concern as Race flinched and drew his shoulders up to his ears, “I’m sorry- I said I’m sorry. No- I-I’m out right now. O-okay. Y-yeah. I’ll come back now. I- Melissa, no. I said I’d come-please.”

Spot could feel his heart break as he watched his best friend transform into a stuttering mess. After a few more seconds of Melissa’s audible shouting and Race trying to get a few words in, the call was ended. Race slumped back down in his chair and put his face in his hands.

“I’m not letting you go back there, Race.” Spot said, gently, yet firmly.

“I-” Race cut himself off as his voice cracked, and Spot was surprised to see his shoulders start shaking with what he presumed were tears. He’d only ever seen him cry once before, and they had both been drunk. He jumped into action when Race’s cries turned to sobs, quickly making his way around the counter so he could carefully rub a hand up and down his arm to ground him.

“I-I don’t know w-what ta do, Spottie,” Race choked out.

“We’ll figure this out, Racer, I promise.” Spot said, soothingly, although his heart was in his throat. It scared him to see his best friend breakdown like this.

“I’m scared,” Race whimpered.

“I know, I’m right here.”


	2. Me, I’m dyin’ to Get Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Albert! And Race’s shirt is ruined!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk how i feel ab this chapter but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Thirty minutes later, Race had stopped crying and was now taking a shower in Spot’s bathroom. Spot sighed as he picked up Race’s bloody shirt from the floor. Upon further inspection, he realized it was Race’s favorite white Styx shirt. The blood on the front had dried overnight leaving splotchy brown stains across the logo. It was unlikely that the blood would wash out completely, but Spot decided he would throw it in the washing machine with cold water regardless. 

A crash sounded from the bathroom, along with a loud, “Shit!” From Race. 

Spot was immediately at the bathroom door, “Race? You okay in there?”

“Yeah,” He heard Race call back, “Sorry! I just dropped the shampoo bottle!”

Spot rolled his eyes, “Alright, idiot, I’ma run down to the laundromat downstairs real fast, you gonna be good for a few minutes?”

All he got back was a bland, “Yeah.”

“Alright, ya know where ta find me.”

On his way out the door, Spot swooped down to grab Race’s discarded jeans as well. He pulled out his phone to absentmindedly check Snapchat during his descent to the basement where the laundromat was located. 

“Hey Spottie!” A loud voice called from in front of one of the laundry machines. Spot looked up to see Albert, his across the hall neighbor and long time friend, leaning against a dryer, earbuds dangling down his shirt.

“Hey Albo,” Spot greeted, strolling over to the washing machine across from his friend.

“Yoooo, who fuckin’ died?” Albert said, gesturing wildly to the bloody shirt in Spot’s hand, “Hol’ up a sec, ain’t that Racer’s? He okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine.” Spot answered, taking out a few quarters and tossing Race’s clothes into the machine.

“What happened?” Albert pushed, “Is it his blood?”

“What, d’you think he murdered someone?” Spot asked, turning to Albert with a slightly amused smirk, “Yeah, it’s his blood, but I dunno if he’d want me sharing what happened.”

Albert was quiet for a minute, “Welp, m’glad he didn’t murder no one.” There was an awkward pause before Albert’s dryer went off signalling his clothes were ready. Spot kicked a laundry basket across the room to him and Albert nodded his thanks.

“See ya around, Spottie-boy.” Albert said, starting to leave. He was almost out the door when he turned around again, “Oh yeah! Are you and Race gonna come to Jack and Kath’s holiday party? Like, everyone’s gonna be there.”

Spot bit his lip, “When’s that again?”

“Monday, after the last midterm.”

“I’ll see if Racer’s up to it, but definitely count us interested.”

“Sure thing, dude,” Albert hoisted his laundry basket higher on his hip, “Whatever’s wrong with Race, uh, tell ‘im to feel better.”

Spot shot him a thumbs up and watched as Albert’s red hair disappeared from sight. He sat down on one of the benches set up in the middle of the room and scrubbed a hand down his face. He didn’t know what he was gonna do about Race. He was obviously lost and scared and the fact that he had left his and Melissa’s apartment meant that he knew his situation was bad, he just didn’t know how to go about fixing it. 

He sat in thought for a little while longer until the timer for the washing machine went off. Pulling out Race’s clothes, he grimaced when he saw that the stains were still quite prominent on the front of the shirt.

“Oh, that’s where my clothes went.”

Spot jumped when Race’s voice rang across the room. Race walked over to where Spot was now transferring his stuff to a dryer and clicked his tongue.

“Shame,” He sighed, “That was my favorite shirt. It figures that she’d be the one ta ruin it.”

Spot glanced sideways at him, “M’sorry.”

Race only shrugged, “Whatever.”

“So,” Spot began, “I was thinking that ya should maybe stay with me for a while.”

Race opened his mouth to protest, but Spot continued, “Dude, I know you’re scared of her comin’ after ya or whatever, but she fuckin’ beat the shit outta you last night. There’s no way in hell I’m lettin’ ya go back there.”

“Spot, you don’t understand she’ll-”

“Race, you’re right, I don’t understand. But I promise you, I won’t let her do anythin’ ta ya while you’re with me.”

“But-”

“Antonio. Please let me help you.” Spot fixed Race with a stern, but pleading look, “I’m real worried an’ I don’t want nothin’ worse happenin’ ta you, man. Last night was bad enough.”

Race looked down at his hands, which were visibly shaking again. He shoved them into his pockets and looked at Spot.

“Alright,” He said, quietly, “I’ma hafta get some stuff from the apartment though-”

“I’ll go,” Spot immediately offered.

“No, Spot,” Race said, shaking his head, “I can go. I’ll just wait until I know she’s at work or some shit.”

Spot considered this, “Okay, but I’m comin’ with ya.”

“Deal.”

XXX

The car ride to Race and Melissa’s apartment complex was quiet and tense. Race was visibly on edge. He sat, absentmindedly biting his nails, something Spot would normally admonish him for doing. Right now, however, he let Race do whatever he needed to keep collected. 

Another few minutes passed in silence before they turned into the apartment parking lot.

“She’s not here, right?” Spot asked, scanning his eyes across the somewhat crowded lot.

“No,” Race mumbled, “I don’t see her car anywhere.”

Spot nodded and pulled into a guest spot. As soon as they were parked, Race unbuckled his seatbelt, “C’mon,” He grumbled, climbing outta the car, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Spot turned off the car and followed Race into the building. Race anxiously chewed on his lip as they took the elevator to the fifth floor. 

“You sure you’re up to this?” Spot gently asked.

“Yeah,” Race said, shaking his head to clear it, “Yeah, m’fine.”

“Alright.” 

Race fumbled with his key for a moment before unlocking the door to his apartment.

“Hello?” He tentatively called. When there was no answer, his shoulders visibly relaxed.

“Okay,” Race said, already making his way across the living room to his and Melissa’s bedroom, “I’ll just be a minute.”

Spot hummed in acknowledgement and took a minute to observe the place. Race had only been living with Melissa for half a year, so Spot had only ever been there once to pick him up on the way to campus when he needed a ride. The apartment still looked generally the same as it had the last time he was there, but the atmosphere was different. It seemed darker, gloomier, and upon further inspection, Spot could see bits of broken glass on the floor behind the couch. He winced as images of Race cowering from Melissa who was coming towards him with a bottle flashed through his mind and suddenly, he wanted to be anywhere but there. It felt like he was standing in a crime scene.

“Let’s go,” Race’s voice snapped Spot out of his thoughts, “I got m’shit. Let’s leave before she comes back.”

Race was carrying nothing but his backpack with his coursework in it and a small duffel bag. His stance was tense and uncomfortable, almost like he wanted to run.

“Alright, c’mon.” Spot said, opening the door to the apartment to let Race through. 

Once they were back down at the car, Spot popped the trunk so Race could stow his belongings. 

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot ta ask,” Spot said, as Race shut the trunk.

“Mm?” 

“I saw Albert in the laundromat earlier. He wanted ta know if we were goin’ ta Jack and Katherine’s holiday thing Monday. Wouldja wanna go? I totally understand if you don’t-”

Spot,” Race cut off Spot before he could start rambling, “Yeah, we can go.”

“Alright, if ya sure,” When Race still didn’t object, Spot said, “I’ll let Jackie know we’re comin’.”

“Kay.”

The two boys lapsed back into quiet as Spot pulled out of their parking space and Race began to hum to himself again, something Spot observed that he did when he felt awkward. Eventually they arrived back at Spot’s apartment complex. 

“Thanks, man,” Race said, before opening his car door, “For lettin’ me stay with ya.”

“”Course, Racer.”

XXX

That night, Race cooked his favorite lasagna for the two of them, waving down Spot’s offers to order take-out. Cooking had always been a comforting activity for Race. He had grown up in a purely Italian household and had been working in the kitchen from a young age. Whenever he was stressed or upset, he cooked. It was safe and whenever he could feel something getting out of hand, it was the one thing he felt in control of. 

He and Spot sat in front of the TV and watched House Hunters as they ate. As the night went on, Race began to relax and Spot could feel himself starting to doze. 

“Spot, dude, wake up.” Spot jerked awake and blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness. 

He heard Race chuckle, “You we’re droolin’ on my pillow. Since when do ya drool?”

“I don’t,” Spot muttered, wiping at his mouth where there was, indeed, drool, “Or I usually don’t.” 

Race laughed again, “You should sleep.”

“You should too,” Spot countered, he pulled himself stiffly off the couch and waved his hand over the blankets and pillows that were still there from the night previous, “These still gonna be okay?”

Race nodded, “Yeah, go ahead and sleep, man. You look dead.”

“Says you,” Spot retorted.

“Shut up.” 

“What time’s it, anyway?” Spot said, squinting at the clock. 

“Two somethin’,” Race said, pulling his toothbrush from his duffel, “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Ya don’t gotta ask,” Spot said, starting to walk towards his own bedroom, nodding for Race to follow. Race quietly slipped into the bathroom as Spot pulled a fresh pair of sweatpants from his drawer. A few minutes later, Race came out and gestured for Spot to take his turn. 

Race wasn’t in the room anymore when Spot was done. He poked his head out of his bedroom to call, “Night Racer.” 

A few seconds later he heard Race sleepily call, “G’night Spottie.” 

As he settled into his bed, Spot took a deep breath. He had Race here and safe. It was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be Jack and Kath’s holiday party! Fluffy stuff and maybe some angst to come idk it’s already angsty oof


	3. Girls Are Nice, Once or Twice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of sexual abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk how good this chapter is but oh well. I've been really busy w the start of school so sorry for the gap between updates. Enjoy!

The following Sunday passed by rather uneventfully. Race and Spot spent the morning cleaning the apartment and setting up an air mattress on the floor of the living room for Race. Spot had never been too fond of the concept of roommates and had opted to live in an apartment alone the moment he moved off campus. He liked the quiet and enjoyed being able to return to isolation after long days of work at the studio or class. Knowing he would not be sharing a space with anyone, he had gotten a one room apartment. This worked out fine, and anyone who would spend the night usually crashed on the couch, but seeing as Race would probably be there for a while, Spot thought it only fair to offer him some semblance of a bed.

The next day, they were both seated at Spot’s kitchen counter, eating meatball sandwiches that Race had cooked up, when Spot dropped his sandwich, “Shit!”

Race swallowed a bite of sandwich and looked at Spot, raising his eyebrows, “What?”

“We got that Holiday party thing tonight and I haven’t gotten presents for anyone yet,” Spot said, picking up his sandwich and placing a stray meatball back inside, “I totally forgot.”

Race chuckled lightly, “I haven’t gotten anyone anythin’ yet either, we can go to the mall after lunch if ya want.”

Spot nodded, “Okay, yeah. Can we also swing by the grocery store? I think Jack said to bring desserts.”

“Sure.”

They joined efforts to do the dishes and were out the door and in the car on the way to the mall within a half hour. 

“Did you ever hear from Melissa again after that phone call?” Spot asked hesitantly. He saw Race tense up out of the corner of his eye. 

“No,” Race said, shifting his body in his seat so he was sitting up a little straighter, “Honestly, I expected her to be a lot more on my ass at this point…” He trailed off more a few seconds before adding in a slightly smaller voice, “It’s kinda freakin’ me out if I’m being honest.”

Spot hummed, “Yeah, that’s a bit unnervin’.”

It wasn’t long before they pulled into the mall parking lot, Race tugging the sleeves of his sweatshirt down self-consciously to hide the bruises that still littered his arms. They browsed through several stores, occasionally picking out presents for their friends.

At one point, the two of them went into a kitchen appliance store and Race wandered off, mumbling something about looking for spatulas for Sarah, who was also quite fond of cooking. Spot strolled in the opposite direction and found himself by the aprons. He laughed when he found one that had the words, ‘Of course I cook, I’m Italian” printed across the chest and took it off it’s hook to get for Race. 

After about an hour, the two of them were done buying presents and decided to go to Target to find something to bring for dessert.

“What time does the party start?” Race asked as he picked out several pints of vanilla ice cream to bring with the cinnamon apple pie they’d decided to purchase.

“I think seven. Jack’s got his last midterm at five.” Spot answered.

“Sweet, so we have time to look for ugly Christmas sweaters!” Race said, hopping up and down on the balls of his feet.

Spot scoffed, “Dude, don’t you have like eight?”

Race rolled his eyes, “You can never have too many. Besides, you have none and that needs to change.”

It was Spot’s turn to roll his eyes, but Race was already walking towards the cashiers.

“Dude, where are you going,” Spot called, jogging to catch up with him, “They sell Christmas sweaters here.”

“Not good enough ones,” Race said, loading their groceries onto the conveyor belt.

Spot blinked, “Alright, well, where sells Christmas sweaters that live up to your apparent standards.”

“There’s this little place downtown that makes the most ridiculous ones you can think of. It’s where I get all of mine. Well, except for the Rudolph one. Albert got me that one.”

They got back into the car and Spot pulled up his GPS app, “Alright, where am I headed?”

“Oh, the store’s called ‘Don We Now Our Gay Apparel’.”

“You’re kiddin’.” 

Race just grinned.

XXX

It was 6:45 and Spot and Race hadn’t left for Jack and Katherine’s yet. They scrambled around, trying to quickly wrap the last of the presents. 

“Wait!” Race shouted right as they were about to leave, “Our sweaters!” He ran back into the apartment and grabbed them. They had each gotten matching green ones, complete with tinsel and jingle bells stitched around the shoulders and waist. On the front, they said, ‘Santa’s Favorite Ho’. Both boys haphazardly pulled the sweaters over their T-shirts, then rushed to get to Spot’s car.

They arrived at Jack and Katherine’s apartment ten minutes late, relieved to see that they were not the last ones there seeing as Crutchie and Finch were nowhere in sight. Jack saw them enter and beamed, striding over to greet them at the door.

“Hey! I’m glad y’all could make it. Feel free to help yourselves to any drinks and stuff.” He said, taking a sip from the red solo cup in his hand. 

“Thanks, Jack,” Race said, smiling at him, “How’d your midterm go?”

“I think it went well, but- whoa wait, what happened to your jaw? Didja get in a fight or somethin’?” Jack asked upon seeing the purple and yellow bruise on Race’s jawline.

Race’s hand flew up to touch it, his eyes widening ever so slightly. He quickly replaced the smirk back onto his face and chuckled, “Yeah, uh, you could say that.”

“Wild, with who?” 

“Uhhh,” Race flicked his eyes over to Spot- an obvious plea for help. 

Spot quickly spoke up, gesturing to Jack’s drink, “Yo, is that eggnog? I don’t think I’ve had eggnog in like a decade.”

Jack nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah and I don’t know what Specs spiked it with, but it’s good.”

“Sweet, wanna come get some with me, Racer?”

“Yeah. Be right back, Jack.” Jack waved them off, then strolled over to where Smalls and Jojo were sitting.

As soon as they entered the kitchen, Race turned to Spot, “Dude, who can I tell people I fought?”

Spot grimaced, pouring him and Race cups of eggnog, “Make up some shit about a bar fight or something.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s good, thanks.”

“Hey, you two!” A voice sounded behind them.

They turned around to see Katherine walking in, grabbing a spare bowl of chips from the counter, “How are you guys? I feel like I haven’t seen y’all in ages- especially you, Race.”

“Heh, ya know, busy with school and shit.”

“Ah, I feel ya. I swear today’s the first day I’ve seen sunlight in two weeks. You know how hell-week goes.” Spot and Race nod in agreement. Katherine was a theatre major with a focus in lighting and sound design. The group had grown accustomed to her busy weeks when shows were on the horizon.

“How’s the show comin’? What’re y’all doin’, again? Island of Doctor Moreau, or whatever?”

“Yeah, Moreau. It’s coming great,” Katherine glowed with pride, “Lots of sound cues for this show, though, and the lighting is insane, but my crew is awesome and it’s all coming together really well.”

“That’s awesome, Katherine, I’m happy for you.” Race said, pouring himself a little more eggnog. 

“Thanks! So what about you guys? How’s Melissa, Race?” Race froze, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater subconsciously.

“Oh, she’s fine..” He trailed off. 

Before anything else could be said, Albert’s loud voice shouted from the living room, “Yo, listen up! Everyone’s here now, so it’s time for presents!” 

“That’s our cue, boys!” Katherine said, cheerily.

The three entered the living room to find everyone already seated in various places around the Christmas tree, which was positively packed with presents underneath. 

Albert stood up and clapped his hands together, “So, as legal adults, there is probably an orderly way to go about exchanging and opening presents. However, seeing as none of us, except for maybe Jojo and Katherine, actually act like adults, I say….GO FOR IT!”

The next ten minutes or so were chaos. Wrapping paper seemed to be flying everywhere and at least one person got knocked in the nose or gut, but everyone was enjoying themselves. Race emerged from the apparent pile of people under the tree and bounded over to Spot, a medium sized present in his hand. 

“Spottie, this is yours from me,” His grin made him look like an excited child as he thrust the parcel into Spot’s hands, “Open it!”

Spot chuckled, taking the present from him, “Slow down, Chief, lemme grab yours.” He walked over to the tree and picked up his gift to Race, then returned to where he was waiting eagerly, now perched on the arm of the couch. 

Race took the package from Spot then said, “Okay, on three, we both open them. One, two, three!”

They both ripped open the paper and burst out laughing. Spot held up a shirt with the words ‘Secretly a Softie’ written in bold letters across the chest.

“Dude, where’d ya even find this?” Spot said, still giggling. 

“Oh, I saw it online and just had to get it for ya,” Race laughed, slipping the apron on, “I fuckin’ love this apron and you can bet your ass I’m never taking it off.”

“Aye, Racer! Nice apron,” Romeo called from across the room, “Really goes with that sweater ya got on!”

Race flipped him off, then turned back to Spot and hugged him, “Thanks, man. Love ya.”

“Love ya too.”

XXX

By the time midnight came, everyone in the group were in varying states of food comas and it was safe to say that a good few of them were bordering drunk, Race included. Last Spot saw of him, he was making up an elaborate fight story to Albert and Jojo, who had stopped him to ask about his jaw. The story was evidently short-lived, however, because Race was now stumbling in Spot’s direction. 

“Spotiieeeeee,” He drawled, draping himself across the lap of a very full Spot, “Ya know what I don’t fuckin’ trust?”

“What don’tcha trust, Race?” Spot said, smirking as he started to card his fingers through Race’s blonde curls.

Race closed his eyes and hummed in satisfaction before continuing, “Whales. I mean they’re fine creatures, but why do their mouths have to be that...that big.” 

“How much of that eggnog have ya had, dude?”

Race just giggled, “A lot. Tastes good. Plus, Al gave me a hit of his blunt and it takes my mind offa Melissa. Ha! Melissa. What an asshole. I mean, I haven’t even toldya the worst part about her, dude.”

Spot frowned, “What are ya talkin’ about, Racer? What else did she do?”

Race shook his head, “Shhhhh, I’m gonna tell ya, be quiet.”

Spot held up his hands in surrender, “I’m listenin’.”

Race pouted, then sat up to whisper in Spot’s ear, “Itsa secret, but she’d make me have sex with her! I mean, I like sex, but not all the time. But if she was in the mood, it didn’t matter what I wanted. Oh, and the things she would make me do! She never listened when I said no, I mean, what an asshole, right?” 

Spot was speechless, but Race was back to babbling about whales. 

“Race, hey,” He said, shaking Race’s shoulder a bit to shut him up, “You’re fucked, man, let’s head home.”

Race stared at Spot for a second, no doubt trying to process what he had just said, before nodding vigorously, “I decided m’tired.” He said, suddenly serious. If Spot hadn’t just heard Race recount the fact that his girlfriend was also sexually abusive, he would have laughed at his sudden change in demeanor, but as of right now, he couldn’t find it in himself to. 

He helped Race stand up from the couch and lead him over to the door. He picked up their respective trash bags that contained their presents and turned around to shout a goodbye to everyone and a thank you to Jack, who was half-awake on the futon. A chorus of ‘goodbyes’ and ‘goodnights’ followed them and Spot closed the door behind him and began to half lead and half drag Race down to his car.

Race fell asleep on the way back to Spot’s apartment, only waking up to stumble to the elevator and into the apartment. Spot helped him sit down on his air mattress and take off his shoes. 

As soon as he got into his own room, he realized how tired he was. He pulled off his Christmas sweater and shoes and collapsed into bed and was just starting to doze off when he heard a small knock at his door.

He sighed and got up to open it. Race was standing on the other side, his eyes were fixed on the floor, “I don’t wanna be alone tonight, I’ve not been sleepin’ so hot. Can I, uh, sleep in here tonight?”

Spot felt worry creep into his stomach for what seemed like the hundredth time that weekend.

Race must have misinterpreted Spot’s worry for annoyance because he started to back away, his voice still slightly drunk, but now frantic, “I-I’m sorry. It was s-stupid, I can just-”

“Race, hush. C’mon, of course you can crash in here.” Spot said, opening his door a bit wider to invite Race in. Race nodded and entered his bedroom. Spot followed him back to his bed and they crawled in from opposite sides. 

Silently, Race nestled his head into Spot’s shoulder, and if they woke up a little closer than that in the morning, no one needed to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo! Calm before the storm...we meet Melissa next chapter, so stay tuned!


	4. And Tomorrow Won't Remind Me of Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's highkey 3 am when I'm posting this so be gentle, the grammar might be rough and stuff. ANYWAY sprace fluff really picked up this chapter so enjoy our boys enjoying each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (TW: Panic Attack)

It was 10:30 am by the time Spot was fully awake the next morning. Race was still asleep, his arm draped lazily across Spot’s stomach. For the moment, Spot decided to ignore the warm feeling that their closeness gave him, he’d deal with that later. As of right now, he had to get ready for the class he was instructing at the Tae Kwon Do studio at 11:15. He allowed himself two more minutes to lazily drink in the morning sunlight that shone across his bed, then carefully extracted himself from Race’s embrace and grabbed his uniform off of his desk chair. 

Once he was dressed, he got to work cooking some scrambled eggs to eat before he left. A loud groan sounded from his bedroom and a few moments later, Race was dragging himself into the kitchen.

“Mornin’, Champ,” Spot greeted, smirking at Race’s obviously hungover state.

“I never wanna even see eggnog ever again,” Race grumbled, slinking over to the medicine cabinet and pulling out some Advil, “Ya got any orange juice?”

“Yeah, in the fridge,” Spot said, taking the eggs off of the heat and transferring half to a plate, “Ya want any eggs?”

Race nodded and Spot pulled out another plate for him, dumping the second half of the eggs onto it. Race poured two glasses of the orange juice and the two of them ate in peace.

Spot rinsed off the dishes while Race scrolled through his phone. 

“How long you at work for today?” Race asked. 

“Just ‘til two, itsa short day cuz of winter break.”

“Cool. Al was wonderin’ if we wanted to go ice skating later, should I tell him we’re in?”

“Yeah, I’m down.”

“Aight, everyone’s meetin’ at five.”

“Okay, I gotta head out.,” Spot said, grabbing his keys off of the hook, “I’ll see ya ‘round two ish. Ya know where ta find me.”

“‘Kay, bye.”

XXX

By the time the last class rolled around, Spot was at his wits end. Winter break having just started for the kids meant that they were exceptionally unfocused today, especially with the promise of snow that weekend. 

“Aight, class, Charyut!” Spot called to the orange and green belts he was teaching at the moment, “We’re just goin’ ta go through your combinations real fast. When we move past the orange belt combos, all orange belts start back at the first one while the green belts do theirs, got it?”

A chorus of ‘yes, sirs’ rang from the group and Spot silently thanked the gods that this was one of his more mature classes.  
“Good. Turn to your left with a loud yell, joon bi!” The class did so and Spot began to lead them through their combinations, only having to stop every so often to help a lost kid catch up. Twenty minutes later, he bowed out the class and went to get the mop from the back. He glanced at the clock, which read 1:30, and sighed. 

‘Thirty minutes left,’ he thought to himself, pulling out his phone to listen to music, ‘then I’m off for two weeks.’ He grimaced and got to work cleaning the studio.

“Spot, man, I can clean,” Spot pulled out his headphones to see Elmer, his fellow instructor, crossing the mat to join him, “You’ve cleaned the past two times, it’s my turn, anyway.”

“Ya sure?” Spot asked.

“Positive,” Elmer said, already reaching out to take the mop from Spot, “Head home, man, Happy Holidays.”

“You’re a blessin’, Elmer, seriously,” Spot smiled, “Thank ya, Happy Holidays.”

“‘Course, I’ll see ya ‘round man.”

Spot signed out and waved to Elmer once more before leaving and walking to his car. He got back to the apartment at exactly 1:50 and found Race playing Fortnite in the living room. His eyes flickered away from the screen for a split second to look at Spot before returning his focus solely to the game.

“You’re back, early.” He said, his tone distracted.

“Yeah, Elmer offered ta clean,” Spot said, chuckling lightly as Race stuck his tongue between his teeth to concentrate, “I was wonderin’ when ya’d invade my X-Box.”

“Oh hush up, I’m doin’ better than you apparently have been.” 

“Whatever, I’ma shower,” Spot said, already tugging off his black belt.

“Yeah, please do, you smell like feet- even from here.”

“Fuck you.”

“Only in ya dreams, Spottie-boy.”

By the time Spot got out of the shower, Race was in the kitchen hovering over the stove.

“Dude, ya don’t gotta cook anythin’,” Spot said, lazily towelling off his still damp hair, “We still have leftover lasagna and meatballs.”

“I know, but I saw this recipe for mac and cheese grilled cheese and ta hell if m’not trying it.”

Spot laughed, “Aight, just don’t make yourself sick.”

Race just shrugged as he pulled every kind of cheese that Spot owned out of the fridge, “Can’t make me any sicker than that goddamned eggnog from last night.” He said, squinting at the expiration date on some parmesan. 

“Oh yeah, speakin’ of last night,” Spot said, tossing the towel over his shoulder and sitting at the kitchen counter, “How much d’you remember?”

Race stopped pulling out ingredients for a moment, furrowing his brows in thought, “Not much after I had summa Al’s weed. Why? Did I do somethin’ stupid?”

Spot hesitated, “You brought up Melissa.”

Race’s shoulders flinched slightly and he asked in a clipped tone, “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Spot bit his lip, trying to decide how to proceed through the conversation, “You, uh, told me about how she’d, uh, make you have sex-”

“Stop,” Race snapped, “Stop, I don’t wanna talk about this.”

“Race, you shouldn’t hafta handle this on your own. I-”

“Sean,” Race said, his voice dangerously low, “Stop talking.”

Spot nodded, “Alright, sorry.”

Race stood still for a moment before hastily shutting off the stove, “I’m not hungry anymore.” With that, he stalked out of the room. A second later, Spot could hear the bathroom fan turn on.

Spot sighed and got to work putting away all the ingredients and pots that Race had pulled out. It was obvious that Race wasn’t handling this whole ordeal as well as he had let on. He wanted to help him sort through it, but he couldn’t if Race refused to talk about it.

‘Oh well,’ He thought to himself, ‘I’ll let him come to me when he’s ready.’ He glanced at the clock. It was 2:30, which meant that they had about two hours before they had to head out to meet the others at the ice rink.

Race was evidently still camping in the bathroom, so Spot decided to go check on him. 

He knocked lightly at the door, “Racer? You good?”

The door opened and Race pushed past Spot, his eyes obviously bloodshot.

“Yeah,” He called over his shoulder,“I’ma take a nap, wake me up when we gotta go.”

Spot felt worry itch at the back of his neck, but it was clear that Race wanted to be left alone, “Alright, I’m gonna do some grocery shopping, you want anything in particular?”

“No.”

Taking that as his cue to leave Race alone, Spot grabbed his keys off his hook and exited the apartment.

Although Race hadn’t asked for anything, Spot decided to pick him up a box of Honey Bunches of Oats. He figured he may as well get Race’s favorite if he was going to stay there for a while. 

When he got back, he found Race fast asleep on his air mattress. It was still about an hour until they had to leave, so after putting away the groceries, Spot flipped on the TV and pulled up Netflix. He had just finished an episode of Breaking Bad when Race stirred from across the room.

“What time’s it?” He mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“4:30, we should leave in fifteen minutes if we wanna get there by five.”

“Okay, I’ma jus’ change and freshen up real fast.”

Spot turned off the TV as Race made his way to the bathroom and pulled himself off the couch to grab a jacket and thicker socks to wear to the ice rink. When he got to his room, he found Race digging through his duffel with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.

Spot scoffed, “What’re ya doin’?”

Race looked up at Spot, a bit of toothpaste smudged on his chin. He reached up and plucked the toothbrush out of his mouth, “M’lookin’ for my hat and gloves, but I think I left it back at my-uh..other place.”

“Here, jus’ borrow some of mine,” Spot suggested, strolling over to his closet and picking a blue winter hat and matching gloves out of a bin. He crossed the room to Race and placed the hat on his head. 

“There,” Spot smiled, “Looks cute on ya.”

Spot froze, realizing that he had just called Race cute, but Race just smiled around the toothbrush, which was back in his mouth, “Thanks.”

“Uh..no problem.” Spot said, watching as Race stood up and went to the bathroom to rinse. He shook his head lightly- what was getting into him? First they had cuddled through the night before and now he was calling Race cute? Did he even have a right to do that since Race and Melissa were technically still in a relationship? Though he wasn’t entirely sure it was a relationship anymore, but they had never explicitly broken up. Beyond that, since when did Spot think about Race that way? Since when did-

“Spottie-boy, ya good?” Race said, effectively breaking Spot out of his thoughts, “You have the same look on your face thatcha have when you’re tryna do math.”

Spot scrunched his nose, “M’good, ya ready to roll?”

Race nodded and the two of them put on their jackets, hats, and gloves before leaving the apartment and walking down to Spot’s car.

XXX

“Aye, Racer! Spot! Over here!” The boys were greeted by Albert’s loud voice upon arrival at the ice rink. Everyone else was already there and in various stages of lacing up their ice skates. After waving them over, Albert turned his attention back to Finch, who was having trouble lacing up his skates. Race and Spot watched as Albert moved his hands away from the laces and kissed his forehead before expertly lacing and tightening them for him.

“They’re disgustingly adorable,” Spot murmured as Finch kissed Albert as a thank you.

“Honestly, I can’t even be mad- they’re literally perfect for each other.” Race said, gently tugging Spot’s sleeve to lead him to the ice skate rental stand. 

After they each had gotten their skates, they joined the others at the benches.

“Jus’ a fair warning, I’m awful at ice skating,” Spot said as he tied up his skates.

“I gotchu,” Race said, holding out a hand to help Spot up, “I’m decent at it.”

“Oh yeah,” Spot laughed, “Didn’t ya do like five years of what was it? Ice theatre or whatever?”

“Theatre on Ice?” Race supplied, nodding grimly, “Yes, don’t remind me. Those were my pre-dancer days, I didn’t know what I was doin’ with my life.”

Spot chuckled again and moved to step tentatively onto the ice. He was able to keep himself fairly steady for all of thirty seconds until he tried to actually skate. His legs began to wobble violently and he flailed his arms out helplessly in an attempt to regain balance. Accepting his fate, he shut his eyes and braced for a fall, but one never came. 

He felt a pair of strong arms wrap around his torso, holding him upright, “Whoa there, chief, easy does it.”

Spot looked up to see Race laughing down at him and pouted, “I toldya I’m awful.”

“I never doubted ya.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Spot said, squinting his eyes.

“I mean, I could,” Race smirked, “But then ya’d fall.”

“Smartass.”

Race smiled and shifted their position so he was standing in front of Spot, then casually reached down to take his both his hands. Spot blushed slightly and prayed to whoever was listening that Race would just take it as him being cold. 

“Here, I’ll keep us up,” Race said, beginning to glide backwards, “Jus’ hold on.”

Spot had no choice but to listen as Race began to slowly guide the two of them around the rink. He looked down to observe how Race’s feet were moving and began to try and copy the technique. After a few minutes of doing so, he felt Race let go of his hands. He tried not to let that disappoint him too much.

“There ya go,” Race said appraisingly, “You’re gettin’ it.”

Spot smiled as he started to move more smoothly, “Holy shit, m’actually not dying.”

They passed Jack and Katherine on their way around the rink and Jack raised his eyebrows, “Wow Racer, you actually got ‘im goin’. Last time we went skatin’, m’pretty sure Spot spent the majority of the time with his ass on the ice.”

“Oh he definitely didn’t stay up for more than five seconds at a time,” Race said, nodding seriously as Spot flipped the two of them off, “The idiot refused to even try.”

“The idiot is standing right here.” Spot grumbled as Jack, Race, and Katherine laughed.

“All in good fun, Spottie,” Race said, clapping Spot on the back, causing him to stumble and fall onto the ice with a loud thump.

“Fuck you, Higgins.”

XXX

The mood during the car ride back to Spot’s apartment was the cheeriest it had been all week. Albert and Finch had decided to come over for dinner and Race was in a significantly better mood than earlier that day. The four boys sang loudly to Christmas carols the whole time, but the happy spirits were quickly crushed as they pulled up to Spot’s complex.

“Holy shit,” Race hissed, turning off the radio.

“What?” Spot asked as he parked.

“I-I think I saw Melissa’s car,” He said, his voice shaking.

“Uh, what’s bad about that?” Finch asked from the back seat, but Spot and Race ignored him.

“Are ya sure it was hers?” Spot asked, feeling tension bubble up in his stomach.

“Yeah, m’pretty sure. It was her license plate.”

“Fuck, well, what do you wanna do?” 

Race bit his lip, worry creased between his eyebrows, “Let’s jus’, um, jus’ go up to the apartment through the back. Maybe we’ll avoid her wherever she is.”

Spot sat for a moment before turning off the car, “Alright.”

“Wait,” Now it was Albert speaking from the back, “I don’t understand. Why’re we avoiding Race’s girlfriend?”

“She’s an asshole.” Race snapped, his tone indicating that was all he was going to share.

“Oh, uh, okay.” Finch mumbled. They all walked hastily around the side of the building, entering Spot’s complex through the back and riding the elevator up to his floor. Just when they thought they escaped danger, Spot saw Race freeze in his steps. He met Race at the corner, Finch and Albert on his heels, only to see Melissa standing in front of his apartment.

“Okay, that’s jus’ creepy,” He heard Albert whisper.

“Antonio!” She called in a fake sweet tone, “I had a feeling you’d be here with Sean.”

She began to walk towards them and Spot stepped defensively beside a still-frozen Race.

“Are ya seriously that dumb?” Spot asked, anger dripping in his voice, “Showing up here was probably the shittiest thing ya could do.”

Melissa cocked her head, “I was just looking for my boyfriend, Sean. He had a nasty fall the other day and got really hurt and then just ran off. I was worried about him,” She turned to Race, “What have you been telling them, baby?”

“I-I-” Race swallowed.

Spot cut him off, “Don’t you dare make this out as Race making shit up,” He half-shouted. 

He saw Race flinch slightly out of the corner of his eye, but he was too angry to stop, “I heard that fuckin’ phone call the other day, asshole. I saw the fuckin’ hand-shaped bruises! And I don’t even wanna repeat some of the things he’s told me you’ve done!”

Melissa simply stared at him, her face seemingly calm, but her eyes anything but. Then, in a sudden flurry of movement, she reached out and grabbed Race’s wrist, yanking him towards her. Race gasped and shut his eyes tightly and immediately, Albert and Finch stepped forward, pulling him back out of her grip.

“Don’t ya dare fuckin’ touch him,” Finch seethed. Albert and him both let go as Race squirmed in their grip. 

“N-no, it’s fine,” He said, sounding slightly breathless, “I’ll go, l-lemme jus’ grab m’stuff. I’m sorry I-”

“No,” Spot said, firmly, “Race, you’re not goin’ anywhere. You on the other hand,” He said, pointing to Melissa, “Are going to get the fuck out of here before I call the fuckin’ police on your pathetic ass.”

Melissa huffed before looking at Race again, “You can never take anything like a man, can you? You fucking worthless piece of shit, always ruining-”

“Oh, jus’ shut UP already,” Albert shouted, “Literally, jus’ fuck off. I dunno what you think you’re accomplishin’ besides making a bunch of people fuckin’ hate you. Now do as Spot said and leave before I call the police myself.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone as if to prove a point.

Melissa glared at Albert for a tense moment before pushing past Race and stalking down the hall and out of sight. As soon as she was gone, Race paced away from Albert’s side and slid down the wall. His entire body was shaking in short bursts and his breathing seemed to grow more erratic by the second. 

None of the other boys moved for a second, then Finch tugged on Albert’s arm, “We’ll go wait in the apartment.”

Spot nodded and dug the key out of his pocket and handed it to him, then moved to kneel in front of Race. He reached out a hand to place it on Race’s shoulder, but quickly retracted it when he flinched and whimpered.

“Race, dude, m’not gonna hurtcha.” He said softly.

“I know,” Race gasped, “Please, jus’ don’t touch me.” He sobbed.

“Alright, no touching. Got it.” He bit his lip. He wasn’t quite sure what to do to help Race- he hadn’t seen anyone breakdown like this before. But he had to try something, because Race was hyperventilating and very clearly worked up.

“Okay, Tony, ya listenin’?” Race nodded minutely, but Spot caught it, “Aight, good, uh, we gotta fix your breathing, dude, it’s not so good right now. So, lets jus’ try ta breathe together a bit? Deep breaths, like me.” 

He took a deep measured breath and waited for Race to attempt to do the same, but all that resulted in was a mini coughing fit, “Hurts, Sean.” He whined.

“I know, Racer, but we’re gonna fix that. Ya gotta try and take some more deep breaths, though. From your chest, dude.” He watched as Race tried to take another deep breath and let out a breath of relief when he didn’t cough this time.

“Good job,” He praised, “Canya try another? Here, I’ll do it with ya.”

It took a few more minutes, but eventually Race’s breathing was back to an acceptably normal pace. He opened his eyes slowly, keeping them cast downward as he rubbed his face with his sleeve. Spot crawled around to sit next to Race against the wall. They sat in silence for a bit while Race finished calming down completely.

“How did this all fuck up?” He eventually murmured, his voice scratchy and spent, “She was seriously perfect at first then...I dunno. She jus’ flipped suddenly.”

Spot looked sideways at him, “I’m so sorry, Racer. I’m sorry you ever had to experience anythin’ like that.” 

Race just continued to stare at the floor, his eyes glassy and dazed, “Fuck her.” He said, before standing up on shaky legs. Spot stood too and the two of them walk silently down the hall to Spot’s apartment. 

Spot knocked and Albert was there almost immediately to let them in. 

“I’m gonna go cook.” Race said before Albert could say anything. He crossed the room to the kitchen and pulled out his phone and earbuds.

“How’s he doin’?” Albert asked, closing the door and walking with Spot to the sofa. Finch was already sitting there, a worried look on his face.

“Not good. Let him cook, it calms him down.” Spot said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“So,” Finch sighed, “Melissa’s been abusin’ him.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yep.” Spot confirmed.

“How long?” Albert asked.

“Dunno, but he shows up at my damn apartment on Friday, covered in blood and bruises.”

A look of realization dawned on Albert’s face, “Oh my god, his Styx T-Shirt. That day at the laundromat- that was ‘cause of her.”

Spot just nodded.

“What else has she done?” Finch asked, his voice slightly horrified.

Spot shook his head, “That isn’t for me ta share. None of this really is, but you guys couldn’t go with no explanation. But, let Racer tell ya if he ever feels like it.”

“She’s awful.” Albert stated.

“Yeah, she is.”

A half hour later, Race called Spot to help him set up places at the counter. His eyes were still red and his hands were still shaky, but overall, he seemed to have calmed down significantly. The four boys ate the fettuccine alfredo that Race had made and talked about various things. Race said a few words here or there, but mostly stared at his plate, pushing food around. 

After dinner, Race and Spot bid Albert and Finch goodbye and the two boys went to their own apartment across the hall. 

As soon as they were gone, Spot turned to Race, “How are you feelin’?”

“Honestly? Like shit.” Race said, shrugging, “Can we just sleep?”

“Yeah, totally,” Spot said.

They got ready for bed quickly and bid each other goodnight, but after about ten minutes, Spot heard his door open. 

“Spot?” Race whispered, “Could I-”

Before Race could finish, Spot shifted over in the bed and pulled back his blanket as an invitation. He heard Race sigh in relief and felt the bed dip as he crawled in.

“I’m here for ya.” Spot whispered into the dark. He felt Race reach out for his hand and squeeze it and Spot shifted closer so he and Race were right next to each other. Race let go of his hand and snaked his arm across Spot’s stomach. Spot hesitated, then wrapped one arm around Race, pulling him closer.

“Thank ya, Sean.”

It was a good moment- a safe moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so believe it or not, we haven't seen the last of melissa so... anyways stay tuned!


	5. Now I'm Learning What is True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHoop there are dogs and stuff and Spot likes peanut butter and pickle sandwiches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this instead of studying.

Spot was awoken the next day by the smell of something burning. He shot out of bed and practically ran into the kitchen to find Race asleep with his head on the counter. What appeared to be smoke was coming out of the oven and Spot cursed while rushing to turn it off. He took what looked like was supposed to be a french toast casserole out of the oven. Sighing, he placed the burnt dish in the sink and ran cold water over it before opening a couple windows to try and let some of the smoke out.

“Spot? What’s happenin’?” Spot turned to see Race sitting up and looking around before paling. He stood quickly from the counter and backed away from Spot, his hands starting to tremor, “Oh fuck, Spot, I’m so sorry. I was tryna make us breakfast and-fuck, I’m sorry. I’ll do better. Fuck.”

“Whoa, Race, hey it’s fine,” Spot said, striding over to where Race was standing with his arms crossed defensively across his chest, “I’m not mad. You’re good, I swear. How long have you been up anyway?”

Race shrugged, letting his arms relax slightly, “I dunno, a few hours?”

Spot gawked, “It’s only seven fuckin’ thirty.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Are ya alright?” Spot questioned tentatively, noticing the dark circles under Race’s eyes for the first time.

Race flicked his eyes over to the sink where cold water was still running over the failed french toast dish. 

He walked past Spot and turned it off, “Yeah, I’m chill. Don’t be wastin’ water, man.” 

Spot shook his head slightly at the change in subject and went to get some grits from one of the cabinets, “Grits sound good?”

Race wrinkled his nose, “No thanks, I can’t stand the texture.”

“Oh, okay. Uh, toast?” Spot offered, peeking into the pantry to make sure they had bread.

“Sure. What’re ya up to today?” Race said, settling back at the counter as Spot put two slices of bread in the toaster. 

“Nothin’ really.”

“Bet. I got an optometrist appointment at one. Couldya gimme a ride?” 

“Yeah sure. Isn’t your optometrist right near Jacobi’s? We could see if like Jack and Kath or someone wants ta meet for lunch after.” Spot set a piece of toast in front of Race, who proceeded to put an excess of Nutella on it.

“Kath’s in rehearsals, remember?” Race said, “Also, you got any sprinkles?”

“Uh, yeah, I think. Hang on,” Spot dug through the pantry and retrieved a packet of rainbow sprinkles. He passed it to Race who poured almost the entire packet on his toast and took a satisfied bite.

“You’re so weird,” Spot said as Race devoured his breakfast, “And right, I forgot it’s hell week for her. We could jus’ go the two of us.”

“Sounds good,” Race said, his mouth full of chocolate and sprinkles, “And hey, quit shittin’ on my food choices. They’re valid. Besides, I’ve seen you eat peanut butter and pickle sandwiches on multiple occasions. You have no room to judge.” 

“Hey, peanut butter and pickle sandwiches are the perfect combination of creamy, crunchy, and juicy. Don’t bust it ‘til ya try it, Higgins.”

Race popped the last bite of his toast into his mouth, “I’ll take your word for it.”

XXX

Spot sat in the waiting room of the optometrist office, reading a bad tabloid magazine. His phone had died five minutes into Race’s appointment, leaving him to find another time passing activity.

“You look like a fuckin’ mom,” Race said, strolling out of the examination room.

Spot stood and flicked Race’s shoulder, “Shut up, my phone died. Figured I’d catch up on how the Kardashians are doin’.”

Race laughed loudly, causing Spot’s stomach flip, “Wanna help me pick out new frames?”

Spot nodded and Race led them to the display shelves, “I kinda wanna mix it up from these,” he said, gesturing to the tortoiseshell glasses he had on currently, “I’ve had this style for years.”

Race didn’t wear his glasses often, usually opting for contacts instead due to the large amount of time he spent dancing. He picked a pair of black half-framed glasses and took off his tortoiseshell ones. 

“How do these look?” He asked, placing them on his face and turning to look at Spot. 

“I like ‘em,” Spot said, nodding in approval, “Make ya look less like a librarian and more like a college student.”

Race studied himself in the mirror for a moment, “Yeah, I’ma get ‘em.”

Spot waited by the door while Race purchased the glasses, then, the two of them walked across the parking lot to Jacobi’s. Race went to secure a booth for them while Spot ordered.

He had just gotten their food and was walking to where Race was sitting when he heard his name being called. He looked to the source of the calling to see Crutchie and Specs sitting at a table on the other side of the restaurant. Crutchie waved him over and Spot held up a finger and mouthed ‘one sec’.

He walked the rest of the way to Race, “Aye,” Race looked up from his phone, “Crutchie and Specs are here. Wanna join ‘em?”

Race slid out of the booth and they joined the other two boys at their table. 

“Hey, guys!” Crutchie greeted, cheerfully, “Nice glasses, Racer.”

Race subconsciously pushed the glasses up on his nose, “Thank ya.”

Specs looked up from his sandwich and choked, “Dude, oh my God.”

They all looked at him to see that he was wearing the same frames as Race. Spot and Crutchie burst out laughing as Specs and Race looked at each other with matching horrified expressions.

“O-oh my fuckin’ God,” Crutchie gasped between laughs, “You two could be twins. Holy shit. Between the blonde curly hair and the glasses, Christ.”

Spot took his phone out of his pocket and pulled up Snapchat, “Smile!” Race and Specs snapped out of their dumbfounded horror to turn and smile at the camera. Spot posted the snap to his story and chuckled again while Specs and Race high fived.

“That was the best thing I’ve seen today,” Crutchie said, screenshotting Spot’s story. 

“We should twin and freak everyone out at the next movie night,” Race said to Specs, sitting down and unwrapping his reuben sandwich.

“For sure,” Specs said, picking up his and Crutchie’s trash to throw away. When he returned, the two of them started planning what their matching outfits would be. 

Zoning out their conversation, Spot addressed Crutchie, “Got any plans for Christmas?”

“Yeah, me n’ Specs are gonna head to his parent’s place upstate. How ‘bout you?” 

“Racer n’ I are prolly gonna jus’ stay around the city. Maybe head to Rockefeller to see the big tree.”

Crutchie frowned slightly, “What about Melissa? Why ain’t Race doin’ somethin’ with her?”

Spot could hear Race falter his words slightly at the mention of Melissa’s name, but he continued to speak to Specs.

“Uh, they’re kinda...takin’ a break I guess. So Race is with me for a while,” Spot said, carefully.

“Oh. M’sorry, Race,” Crutchie called.

Race turned his attention over to him, “Oh, whatever. I-I don’t care that much.” He awkwardly fidgeted with his fingers and Crutchie seemed to take the hint, changing the subject.

“We’re thinkin’ of adopting a dog,” He said, excitedly.

Specs nodded enthusiastically behind them, “Yeah, we’re headin’ to the shelter downtown after this. Ya guys wanna come? You’re welcome to.”

Spot and Race exchanged a glance, silently agreeing, “Yeah sure, sounds fun.” Race said.

They finished their meals and walked to their car after getting the location from Crutchie. It was a relatively short drive, but city traffic led it to take about forty-five minutes. They eventually found parking on the street across from the shelter and met Specs and Crutchie at the entrance.

As soon as they were inside, Race made a beeline for the dogs, “Holy fuck, Spot look at this one! Awww she’s so precious.” He said, crouching in front of a young pitbull covered in black and white speckles. A large, black patch surrounded one eye and she wagged her tail playfully as Race pet her through the cage. 

Spot made a noncommittal grunt, “Yeah, she’s pretty cute I guess.”

Race whipped his head around, “You guess!? Oh yeah, I forgot. You’re a cat person.” 

“Dogs are jus’ too slobbery for me,” Spot said, shuddering.

“Yeah, but cats aren’t as fun,” Race countered, “You can’t play games with ‘em and they mostly ignore ya.”

“Exactly! They basically take care of themselves. You have to walk dogs like twenty times a day and change their food and shit. Cats don’t need any of that, they’re jus’ there to be soft and cuddle you.”

Race looked up at him, smirking, “I dunno how anyone sees you as anything but a big softie.”

“Ah, shuddup,” Spot said, swatting at Race’s head, “I’m gonna go look at the cats.”

XXX

“I want Thai food,” Race declared as he walked into the living room. They had gotten back from the animal shelter a few hours ago and spent the afternoon relaxing. It was now 8:00 and Spot was lounging on the couch, scrolling through Instagram.

“Then order some,” Spot said without looking up from his phone.

Race hovered for a moment before going to the kitchen to find the number for the Thai place they usually ordered from.

“You know my order,” Spot called, “Also get crispy spring rolls!”

“Okay,” Came Race’s answer. He re-entered the living room five minutes later, “Can I have your keys? I gotta go get the food.”

“Yeah, they’re on the hook.” 

Race retrieved the keys and slid on his jacket and shoes, “Okay, I’ll be back in a bit.” 

Some time later, Race’s face filled Spot’s homescreen as his phone rang, “Yeah?” Spot answered.

“Spot, uh, fuck,” Race’s frantic voice bled through the speaker.

“Race? Dude, you okay?” Spot asked, sitting up straighter as worry shot down his spine.

“No, I mean, I dunno.”

“What’s happenin’, Tony, talk to me.”

“Um, a few of Melissa’s friends are in here and I dunno if they saw me and I’m hiding in the bathroom and what if Melissa is-”

“Race, breathe,” Spot instructed. He could hear Race take a few deep breaths, “Do you already have the food?”

“Yeah,” Race said, his voice still an octave too high.

“Okay, ain’t there a backdoor you could leave through?”

“Maybe, fuck, I really don’t wanna see her again. Yesterday was too much.”

“I know, Racer, it’s gonna be okay. Just put your hood up and keep your head down. Think you’ll be okay to drive?”

“Y-yeah. I think I’ll be good.” Race said, huffing out a breath. Spot could mentally see him shaking the nerves out of his shoulders.

“Okay, go quick. Call me again if you needa.”

“Okay, see ya in a bit.”

Race returned twenty minutes later, food bags in hand.

“Did they see you?” Spot questioned as soon as Race set down their food.

“I don’t think so, I ran the fuck outta there.”

“You okay?” Spot asked, opening his Pad See Ew and taking a bite.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s jus’ her friends, I dunno why I got so freaked,” Race said, eating a bit of his own dish.

“Don’t apologize, dude. I’m glad nothing worse happened.”

Race sighed and leaned into Spot’s side, tucking his head between his shoulder and chin. Spot froze for a second, feeling heat rush up his neck. He swallowed, then switched his fork to his other hand and tentatively wrapped an arm around Race’s middle. Race shifted so he was lying in Spot’s lap, his food balancing on his stomach.

“Pass the remote, wouldja?” Spot asked. 

Race did so and he flicked through the channels before settling on Holiday Baking. They finished their food and stayed cuddled on the couch. 

“Hey, Spottie?” Race asked into the dark a few episodes later. 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you remember that big party Jack threw at the beginning of senior year?”

Spot did remember. It was the first time that he and Race had hung out outside of school and at one point in the night, they snuck into Jack’s backyard to go swimming in his pool. They ended up sitting by the edge with their feet in the water, talking about random things until 2 am. It was start of their best friendship that would carry them through the rest of the school year and well into present times.

“Yeah. I remember I wasn’t gonna go at first, but Albert made me,” Spot said, beginning to run his hands through Race’s hair.

“I’m glad he did, or we wouldn’ta been as close as we are now,” Race said, leaning into Spot’s touch a bit and reaching out to hold his other hand, “I love ya, Spot. Thank ya for bein’ there for me through all this shit.”

Spot smiled slightly, “Love you too. You know I’m always here.”

“And you do know I got your back too, right?”

“I know, Racer.”

The conversation faded and they turned their attention back to the TV, but Spot could almost swear he felt Race place a small kiss on the back of the hand he was holding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was P fluffy so yeet. Next chapter will prolly be back to some wild stuff yeah


	6. If The Life Don't Seem to Suit Ya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I support pineapple pizza, but Race sure doesn't. ITS CHRISTMAS (in their world at least)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tired. This is another 3 am post, so be gentle on any grammatical errors. FLUFF and Angst. you kno. the works

Spot woke up on the morning of Christmas Eve to find Race’s side of the bed empty. He didn’t know when he had started to think of it as Race’s side, but seeing as he’d been sleeping in Spot’s room for the better part of two weeks now, it made sense. After the fourth night of Race crawling in with Spot, they had casually taken down the air mattress in the living room and accepted this arrangement as a new reality. 

He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and waiting for the blood to rush away from his head before leaving his room. Race was sitting by the door, tying his sneakers. He was wearing a pair of athletic pants and a tank top, a hat placed backwards on his head.

“Goin’ for a workout?” Spot asked, perching himself on one of the arms of the couch.

“Headin’ down to the studio, actually. S’been ages since I’ve danced and my chest is feelin’ a lot better, so I figured I’d go. Plus, I’ll prolly be the only one there today,” He bounced up from his place on the floor and pulled a sweatshirt over his head, causing his hat to fall off. 

Spot stepped forward and retrieved the hat from the ground, then handed it to Race, “Can I come?”

Race replaced the hat on his head and raised his eyebrows, “I mean, sure, but I dunno how entertainin’ it will be ta watch. M’really outta shape. M’not kiddin’ when I say it’s been literal months since I’ve practiced.”

“Why haven’t ya been dancing? Ya used ta go to the studio like everyday.” 

“Melissa came to like one ballet class and decided it was too feminine for her boyfriend to be doin’. I think she was embarrassed that I’m a dancer and not some sort of basketball player or somethin’,” Race awkwardly pulled at his hoodie strings, “anyway, you can come. I’ll wait while ya get dressed.”

“Will there ever stop bein’ reasons for me ta want to soak Melissa?” Spot asked, incredulously.

Race only gave a dry chuckle, “Go get dressed.”

When they arrived, they found the studio was vacant as Race had predicted.

“Bro, how ya gonna get in, didya even think this through- oh I guess you did.” Spot watched as Race fished a key out of his dance bag.

He jingled them in front of Spot, then unlocked the door, “I asked Romeo to bring the keys with him when we went ta grab lunch yesterday.”

Race’s eyes lit up as he walked into the building, “God, I’ve missed this,” he murmured, placing his bag on a chair and kicking off his shoes. He sat down on the dance floor and began to stretch, paying mind to the injuries that were still somewhat present. Spot sat at the edge of the dance floor and watched curiously as Race eased himself into his right splits. 

“It’s always freaked me out how bendy you are,” He said.

Race chuckled and switched to his left splits without standing up, “Couldya go put on my dance playlist? Jus’ plug my phone into the stereo over there.”

Spot got Race’s phone from his bag and plugged it into the stereo that was perched on a shelf near the dance floor. He used his thumbprint to get into his phone, then scrolled through his music until he found a playlist labeled ‘Dance Vibes’. He pressed shuffle and Lauv’s ‘I Like Me Better’ filled the studio.

Race whooped and hopped onto his feet, “Dude, Al and I did choreo for this ages ago- it was awesome. Damn, I wish he were here. Whatever, let’s see if I remember it.”

He waited until the second verse started, then began to dance. It looked a little sloppy at first, but he quickly found his rhythm and was soon throwing himself into various jumps and turns. Spot felt admiration spread through his body as he watched Race gracefully move through the choreography. The song finished and Race turned to Spot, grinning widely.

Spot clapped and laughed heartily as Race exaggerated a bow, “Ya still got it.”

Race lifted his shirt to wipe some sweat off of his face, “Thanks, m’really outta shape though.”

“Eh, s’not your fault.”

Race shrugged and walked over to his phone, skipping a few songs before settling on ‘Someone New’ by Hozier. 

“Haven’t done any choreo for this one, but I’ve always wanted to.” He said, placing his phone back on the shelf and pacing to the middle of the dance floor. He closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders a few times before launching into a freestyle. The chorus came on and Spot subconsciously began to sing along.

Race abruptly stopped the pirouettes he was doing, “Dude, the fuck!?” 

Spot stopped singing, “Sorry, didn’t mean ta throw ya off.”

“No! No, ya didn’t I jus’- I mean,” He slid in his socks over to his phone and paused the song, then turned back to Spot, his eyes wide, “Since when couldya sing so well!?” 

Spot blushed, “Uhh..I can’t really-”

“Oh shut the fuck up. Don’t be humble,” Race said, “I can’t believe we’ve been friends this long and I never knew you could fuckin’ sing.”

“I mean, I guess, uh,” Spot spluttered and Race laughed.

“It’s alright, dude, jus’ take the compliment.”

Spot blushed deeper, “Thank ya.”

They stayed in the studio for another hour. Race danced his way through Hozier’s album and Spot occasionally sang along. 

“I gotta lock up,” Race said, grabbing his bag from the chair where’d he put it, “but do ya think we could stop at the store on the way home? I wanna make homemade pizzas tonight.”

“Fuck, yeah, I love your pizza,” Spot said.

The store was bustling with people shopping for Christmas dinner and Spot had lost Race while shopping for ingredients for the pizzas. He figured he’d run back into him at some point and made his way to the canned goods aisle to look for pizza toppings.

“Sean Conlon, I refuse to put pineapple on the pizza I am cookin’,” Race snarled from behind Spot, who was currently taking a can of diced pineapples off of its shelf.

Spot jumped and nearly dropped the can, “You’ve never commented when I order it for myself.” He argued.

“That’s because someone else cooked it, I don’t care how others cook their food,” Race said, plucking the can from Spot’s grip and putting it back, “But, being the deep-rooted Italian I am, I will not let pineapple and pizza mix, stronzo. That’s jus’ plain insultin’ to my culture.”

Spot huffed, “Fine, what do you suggest we put on it, asshat.”

“I was jus’ gonna make a margherita pizza and a capricciosa pizza like a normal, self respecting, human.”

“What the fuck is a capricorn pizza?” 

“Capricciosa, piccola merda. It’s got ham, artichoke, mushrooms, and tomatoes on it.”

Spot narrowed his eyes, “That doesn’t sound more appetizing than pineapple.”

“It’s traditional, cagna.”

“Stop cussin’ me out in Italian,” Spot said, flicking Race in the temple, “Jus’ go get your fuckin’ artichoke.” 

“Don’t flick me,” Race flicked Spot back, “I already got the fuckin’ artichoke.”

Spot groaned, “What does margherita pizza have on it again?”

“Literally jus’ mozerella, tomatoes, and basil. Ya can deal with that.”

XXX

Spot was putting the last of the ornaments onto the fake tree he set up every year when Race entered the living room from the kitchen. He was balancing a pizza on each hand and had a bottle of wine tucked under his arm.

“Where’d ya get wine,” Spot asked, hooking an ornament shaped like the Brooklyn Bridge onto a branch, “I don’t own wine, jus’ beer n’ stuff.”

“I got it at the store earlier,” Race replied, setting the food down onto the coffee table, “It’s a 2016 Alta Mora Etna Bianco. Supposedly, it’s good for the holidays.”

“Hmm, fancy.” Spot joined Race on the couch and took a slice of the margherita pizza. When he bit into it, he let out a frankly obscene moan, “My God, Race, you really make the best fuckin’ pizza.”

Race watched him with an amused smirk, “M’glad you enjoy it. You have sauce on ya face, ya slob.” 

He grabbed a napkin from the table. Spot watched as Race’s blue eyes narrowed in focus while he carefully wiped at his face. He felt butterflies flutter around in his stomach and he was glad that the lights were dim in the room, or else his blush would definitely have been noticeable.

“There ya go,” Race said, softly, lifting his eyes to meet Spot’s, “All better.” His hand lingered on Spot’s face a moment longer.

“Yeah,” Spot breathed, “All better.” Race’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as a faint smile spread across his face. But the moment was gone as quickly as it had come when Race turned back to the coffee table to grab a piece of the capricciosa pizza. Spot let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He faced the front again and willed the fuzzy feeling that had manifested in him to go away. 

“Can we watch Miracle on 34th Street?” Race asked, propping one leg on Spot’s lap and dangling the other over the side of the couch.

“Yeah, sure,” Spot said, wincing when his voice cracked a bit, “But you’re gonna hafta let me up, I only got it on DVD.”

Race sighed and lifted the leg that had been on Spot’s lap up to his face.

“Like I said, you’re unnaturally bendy,” Spot deadpanned as he sorted through the bin of DVDs under the coffee table. Race grinned and stuck his tongue between his teeth. The opening credits began as Spot sat back down. He could practically feel Race vibrating with excitement.

“This is my favorite fuckin’ Christmas movie,” Race said, shifting onto his knees and bouncing with joy.

“I know,” Spot said, “We watch it at least once every year and you react like this every time.”

Race pouted, “Let me enjoy the good things in life, Conlon.”

Spot reached out and tugged at Race’s elbow, pulling him into his side. Race stopped fidgeting and curled into him, “I never said ya couldn’t.” Spot mumbled into his hair. 

By the end credits, Race was struggling to keep his eyes open. Spot nudged him lightly to get him to perk up, “C’mon, man, let’s go ta bed.”

Race nodded sleepily and followed Spot to his bedroom. They changed into their pajamas in silence and crawled into his bed. Spot flicked off the lamp on his bedside table and laid back against his pillows. Race automatically draped an arm across his stomach, something that he’d been doing since the first night they shared a bed.

“Hey, what time’s it?” Race whispered.

Spot lifted his head to glance at the clock, “Uh, 12:07 it looks like.”

“Merry Christmas, Spottie.”

“Oh yeah, I guess it is now. Merry Christmas, Racer.”

XXX

 

Spot was shocked awake by the sound of loud banging at his apartment door. He closed his eyes, willing whoever was knocking to go away. It was Christmas morning for chrissakes, couldn’t he sleep? 

The knocking persisted and he felt Race groan against his chest, “Spottie, go get that and tell whoever it is to shut the fuck up.” 

Spot pulled himself from Race’s embrace and stumbled out of his bedroom. Whoever was at the door was still knocking.

“Shut up, I’m comin’!” Spot shouted. He opened the door and was greeted with Albert and Finch, both wearing reindeer antlers.

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas!” Albert exclaimed, smiling brightly.

“Albert Schuyler DaSilva, it is too early for you to-”

“We brought Christmas breakfast,” Finch cut in, holding up a dish with a basket of bagels balanced on top.

Spot held the door open wider, “I hope ya know m’only lettin’ you guys in cuz you brought food. Any other circumstance I’d have slammed the door in ya faces.”

“Oh, we know,” Albert said, making his way to Spot’s bedroom, “ANTONIO HIGGINS, GET THE FUCK UP! IT’S CHRISTMAS!”

“FUCK YOU, ALBERT!” 

Albert walked over to where Spot and Finch were setting the table, “He’ll be comin’.”

Sure enough, Race walked out of the bedroom two minutes later, wearing an old Christmas sweater, “Hey, Finch?”

“Yeah?”

“Your boyfriend is awful.”

“I know,” Finch said, leaning over and kissing the offended look off of Albert’s face.

The four boys dug into the feast, “Y’all doin’ anythin’ today?” Albert asked, mouth full of cinnamon roll.

“Don’t eat with your mouth full, love,” Finch piped up.

Albert frowned and swallowed, “So are y’all?”

“We’re gonna go down to Rockefeller Center ta see the big tree,” Spot said, spreading cream cheese onto a bagel.

“We are?” Race cocked his head.

“Oh yeah, forgot to ask ya,” Spot said, “Hey, Race, wanna go see the big tree in Rockefeller Center?”

Race rolled his eyes, “Yeah, Spot, I’ll go see the big tree with ya.”

Spot kicked him under the table and Race laughed, “Anyway, yeah that’s our plan. What about you guys?”

Finch shrugged, “Nothin’ really. Prolly gonna watch some Christmas movies and make cookies.”

“You guys can come see the tree with us if ya want,” Spot offered, “I was thinkin’ of goin’ around 8 ish.”

Albert and Finch exchanged a glance, “Okay, sure.” Albert said, “Y’all are welcome to come make cookies with us before.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Race said, cheerfully.

The table was cleared not long afterward and Spot and Race went to get dressed while Albert and Finch relaxed in the living room. Spot tugged off his pajama shirt and pants, then rummaged through his drawers for a clean long-sleeved shirt. The door to the bathroom opened and Spot thanked the heavens that he was wearing boxer briefs at the moment.

“Oh shit, Spot, sorry. Shoulda made sure you were decent,” Race spluttered, turning an impressive shade of red.

Spot hastily pulled on a pair of jeans, “S’fine, man. S’not like you haven’t seen me in a swimsuit or somethin’ before.”

“Dude, Tae Kwon Do is makin’ you ripped,” Race blurted. His eyes widened when he realized what he had just said, “I am fuckin’ up so badly right now, so I’ma jus’, uh, walk out of the room.”

Spot watched, half-amused and thoroughly flustered as Race backed out of his bedroom. He blinked a few times to compose himself, then pulled on a grey sweater that he’d forgotten he owned before exiting his room as well. 

“Cookie time!” Albert cheered. They made the short walk across the hall to Albert and Finch’s apartment. Upon entry, Albert and Race made a beeline to the fridge and pulled out two packs of Pillsbury Christmas tree cookies.

“These are better than drugs and no one can convince me otherwise,” Race said, ripping open a pack and placing the dough on a cookie tray that Albert had supplied. 

“I agree with that statement and I’m a strong believer in weed solving all of life’s problems.” Albert said, earning a scoff from Race. 

Spot and Finch sat in the living room as the other two boys baked the cookies.

“How’s Race been?” Finch asked after several minutes of comfortable quiet.

Spot shrugged, “He has his ups and downs. He’s still avoiding talkin’ about Melissa too much, which kinda worries me.”

“That’s valid, ‘specially after the way he reacted when she showed up at ya door like a freaky bitch.”

Spot scoffed, “That about sums her up- and yeah, she’s definitely affected him way more than he lets on.”

“I wonder if it’s not necessarily that he’s afraid of lookin’ weak or sum, rather he jus’ doesn’t wanna acknowledge that he went through somethin’ like that,” Finch said, thoughtfully, “I remember when Al was in that car crash n’ he lost his brother, he refused to talk about it for months. When he finally did, it was like he was truly acceptin’ it for the first time...God that was messy.”

Spot frowned, he remembered the several months following Albert’s accident. It had been their freshman year of college and for a while, Albert had seemed like nothing but a shell of the charismatic person he usually was. His brother, Henry, had been the closest person to him and losing him had near killed him. What Race had gone through had not been of the same nature as Albert’s experience, but it definitely had instilled a similar trauma into him.

“Yeah, it would make sense if it’s somethin’ like that,” Spot said, “I guess he’ll talk when he’s ready.”

“Time is all ya can give these kinds of thing,” Finch sighed.

“I suppose.”

Albert and Race came out with a plate full of cookies, “Movie marathon time!” Race said, “Albert and I made a list of the movies we’re watchin’ today. First is a Christmas Story.”

XXX

At 7:45, the four boys were gearing up to go. Finch had suggested they make hot cocoa to bring, so they all were carrying Christmas themed thermoses that they had found in the apartment.

“I’m so excited,” Race said as he pulled on the hat that Spot had let him keep after their ice skating excursion, “I haven’t been ta see the tree in years.”

“I’ve never been,” Albert admitted.

Spot turned to him in shock, “You’re tellin’ me you’ve lived in New York City all your life and you haven’t seen the big tree?”

“I’ve only been livin’ here since I was fourteen and I’ve been,” Finch added.

“My parents weren’t big on Christmas, okay? Not my fault,” Albert huffed. 

Race laughed and clapped him on the back, “No worries, brother. We’re here to help ya lose your Rockefeller Center Tree virginity.”

“Why d’you hafta word things the way you do?” Spot asked and Race wrinkled his nose, pulling his scarf on.

They arrived at Rockefeller Center to find it bustling with people. The tree looked magnificent. It towered over the square, lighting it up with brilliant white lights. A soft blue glow was spread across the ice skating rink directly under where the tree stood, adding a mystical aura to the area. Spot glanced over to Race, who was staring in awe up at the tree. The blue glow reflected in his eyes, making them impossibly bluer. The lights from the tree reflected off his fair skin and Spot couldn’t help but think how beautiful he looked as he stood, completely enraptured by the scene before him. Race turned his head and made eye contact with Spot. 

He smiled and reached out to hold onto one of Spot’s hands, “Spot, this is beautiful. I’m really glad we came.”

“I am too,” Spot said. Race stepped closer to Spot’s side and laced their fingers together. They stood, sipping their hot cocoa and taking in the sights and sounds of New York City on Christmas for what felt like an eternity.

Their peace was interrupted however by the sounds of several cars honking loudly. Race jumped, his hot cocoa mug slipping from his hands and spilling it’s contents down the front of Spot’s shirt.”

“Shit! Ow,” Spot exclaimed, jumping backwards.

“Fuck, Spot I’m so sorry,” Race said, backing away, “I-I’m sorry, I-” His breath hitched and Spot looked up from his shirt to see Race with his eyes squeezed shut, covering his mouth with one hand. From where he stood, he could tell Race was shaking. He doubled over slightly and Spot forced himself to recover from his shock. He carefully walked towards where Race was standing, reminding himself not to touch him. People were starting to stare and Spot glanced around to look for some kind of cover. There were a few storefronts a little ways away that looked pretty vacant, so he decided to aim for those. 

“Hey Race, canya hear me?” He asked, working to keep his tone soothing and not at all accusatory. Race didn’t answer and Spot cursed to himself. 

Albert and Finch materialized by his side, “What happened?” Finch asked, alarmed.

“He spilled his hot cocoa on me,” Spot answered, his attention still directed towards Race, who was visibly crying now, “Racer, c’mon. Are ya hearin’ me?”

Race backed up another step, “I-I’m sorry,” Spot heard him whisper.

Spot stepped closer, “Antonio, I needya ta listen. C’mon, I promise I’m not mad and I’m not gonna touch ya. Canya please hear me?” Spot begged. He felt helpless.

Albert stepped tentatively next to Spot, “I think he’s havin’ like a flashback sorta thing. I used ta get ‘em after..ya know. Can I try to-” He gestured towards Race and Spot nodded. Albert walked carefully over to Race so he was standing right next to him.

“Race,” He said, softly, “It’s me, Albert. Jus’ me n’ you here. I promise that’s all that’s happenin’. Canya open your eyes, please? I promise, it’s Albert. You can open your eyes and you’ll be safe.” 

Spot watched as Race blinked open his eyes. He flinched violently before making eye contact with Albert. The relief that flitted across his features broke Spot’s heart. 

Albert continued, “Nice job, dude. Think we can move somewhere a lil’ quieter? I think that might make ya feel better.”

Race nodded and the two of them weaved through the crowd towards the storefronts Spot had noticed earlier. Finch and him exchanged a look before hurrying after them. They got caught behind a few groups of people and by the time they got to the other two, Race had stopped crying. 

“You good, man?” Finch asked, sympathetically.

Race shrugged, “Yeah, m’better. Sorry ‘bout your shirt, Spot.”

“It’s okay, Race, I swear ta ya I ain’t mad or nothin’.” Race nodded.

“Why don’t we head back?” Albert suggested.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Spot agreed. 

Back at the apartment, Spot waited in the bedroom while Race took a shower. He mentally replayed what Albert had done to help Race in case he’d ever have to get Race through a bad situation again, though he prayed to anyone who could be listening that he wouldn’t. Race emerged from the bathroom looking drained. He sat down on the bed by Spot’s feet.

“I want to talk about it. I want to share more than I have,” He paused and took a deep breath, “I need to talk it out, I know that I won’t get past it if I don’t. It just-” His voice cracked and Spot sat up to run a hand up and down his back, “It just hurts so goddamn much. She hurt me so goddamn much and I don’t wanna live it again by talking about it.” 

Even from his space behind him, Spot could tell that Race was holding back tears. 

He stopped rubbing his back and reached for one of Race’s hands, “Talk about it when you’re ready. I’m here to listen whenever that is. You’re not alone, Race. You’re not goin’ through this alone.”

“I’m sorry I ruined Christmas- and your shirt.”

“You didn’t ruin anythin’, Race. Nothin’ that happened tonight was your fault.”

Race gave a watery laugh, “What did I do to deserve you, Spot?”

“You deserve everything good, Race. You deserve support and help and love.”

Race didn’t answer. Instead, he gave Spot’s hand a squeeze and laid back against his chest. Spot lifted his free hand and carded it through Race’s hair. He began to softly hum under his breath until he could feel Race’s breath even out into sleep- finally looking at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oop! Race is starting his journey to healing!


	7. Just Got Word That Our Buddies is Hurtin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go to The Met. Melissa sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda short, but oh well. Next chapter is gonna be a long one, I've already started writing it and i'm excited.

Spot took a container of leftover spaghetti bolognese out of the fridge and transferred a portion to a bowl to heat up. Race was currently at the dance studio with Romeo and Albert, so Spot had a few hours of solitude to relax without having to worry about anyone else. He took the now warm bowl of pasta out of the microwave and began to cut the spaghetti into smaller strands. 

“What the hell are you doin’ to my pasta?” Race’s horrified voice sounded from the entrance to the kitchen. 

“What are you doin’ back?” Spot asked, stirring his spaghetti. 

“Albert got a migraine so we decided to call it a day- no, don’t change the subject, you bitch,” Race said, jabbing a finger at Spot, “You cut your fuckin’ spaghetti?” 

Spot shrugged and took a bite, “Always have. Guess I never thought twice about it, it’s jus’ how I eat pasta.”

Race narrowed his eyes, “You sicken me.”

“Okay, buddy, calm down,” Spot smirked, “How was dance?”

“It was good,” Race said, pulling a bowl out of one of the cabinets and warming up some bolognese for himself, “Romeo taught Al and I some choreo for ‘Jackie and Wilson’ that he and Specs had come up with.”

“Y’all are really on that Hozier grind, ain’t ya?” 

“What? He’s got good bops!” Race said, a defensive tone leaking into his words.

“Don’t say bops,” Spot said, “Like, ever again.”

“Hozier’s bops give me life!” Race exclaimed, a shit eating grin spreading across his face.

“Shut the fuck up,” Spot deadpanned, “You’re so cringey.”

“Yeah, but ya love me,” Race said, mouth full of spaghetti. 

Spot’s stomach did a flip and he blushed, turning away to put his dishes in the dishwasher, “Yeah, yeah don’t push it.”

“Hey, so I was thinkin’-“ 

“That’s never good,” Spot cut Race off, earning a glare from the latter, “M’sorry, continue.”

“As I was sayin’, I was thinkin’ we could go into the city a ‘lil later today. The Met’s got that Tintoretto exhibit I been wantin’ ta go to.”

“The what exhibit?” 

“Tintoretto. He’s my favorite Italian artist. Does portraits and shit.” 

“Oh, cool. Yeah, I’m down,” Spot agreed. 

Race’s eyes lit up and he grinned, “Hell yeah! I been achin’ ta see it for ages, but Melissa never agreed ta go.” 

“Well, I’m agreein’. Get showered, we’ll go in like an hour ish?” 

“Okay, wanna see if Jack and Kath wanna come, too? I know Jack has like an art analysis assignment for some art class or somethin’.” 

“Sure, yeah. Go ahead and ask ‘em, I gotta take the trash down.” 

Race pulled out his phone and picked up his dance bag to deposit into Spot’s room. Spot took a yard bag and began dropping all the smaller trash bags into it. Race walked past him into the bathroom, carrying a change of clothes. 

“Wait,” He called, “Pass me the trash bag in there!”

The door to the bathroom reopened and Race held out the trash bag. 

Spot took it, “Thanks.” He heard the shower turn on as he left the apartment.

XXX

Spot parked his car down the street from the Met and he and Race made the ten minute walk through the bitter cold to the front entrance. Jack and Katherine were already waiting inside by a heater. 

“Hey, guys,” Katherine greeted, walking over to meet them, “We already paid our admission.”

“Aight,” Spot pulled out his wallet, “I’ll go pay our’s real fast.” He wove through the mob of people in front of the admissions desk, leaving Race with Jack and Katherine.

“What do you hafta do for your art project thing?” Race asked Jack, shrugging his winter jacket off and stuffing it into his bag.

“I gotta pick a piece of artwork and analyze the artist’s technique in like a paper, then I gotta recreate my own piece based offa those techniques,” Jack answered, then held up his sketchbook, “M’prolly gonna like sketch ideas as we go.”

“Cool, cool, yeah Tintoretto does like bold portraits. He was supposedly pretty innovative for his time,” Race said, as Spot walked back over to their little group.

“Why d’you know about this guy, again?” Spot asked, taking Race’s bag from him and putting his own jacket inside.

“My mom and grandma liked him and brought me to his exhibit last time they had him in here. So, I dunno, good memories attached to him?” Race shrugged.

“That’s fair,” Katherine said, reaching down and interlacing her fingers with Jack’s, “Shall we head in?”

The four of them walked towards the exhibit on the other side of the museum and entered the sectioned off area. They were immediately met with a dim hallway. The walls were lined with portraits and dark depictions of various religious events.

“Dude, your mom brought you to one of his exhibits when you were a kid?” Jack whispered, “his works are depressing as hell.”

Race’s eyes skimmed from painting to painting, drinking in the details, “Art is art, man,” he murmured.

“That you are right about,” Jack said, taking his hand out of Katherine’s and reaching into his back pocket to pull out a sketching pencil, “And I’ll be damned if this man didn’t know his shit when it came to brush technique- I mean just look at those bold strokes.” His eyes glinted and he stuck his tongue out as he started to draw in his sketchpad, capturing, in essence, Tintoretto’s style.

Katherine laughs fondly and rubs his arm, “You’re such a dork, sweetie.”

Jack squawked indignantly, “Okay, you are not one to talk, miss technical designer.”

Katherine considered for a moment before leaning into Jack’s side and kissing his neck, “Can’t argue with that.”

Jack kissed her head, then turned his focus back to his sketchbook. 

Spot watched them with an un-amused expression, “Gross.” 

“Awe, let ‘em be gross, Spottie,” Race said, grabbing Spot’s elbow and pulling him further into the exhibit. They strolled past the paintings slowly, Race commenting every so often about one of the portraits. At one point, Race’s hand had found Spot’s, but neither of them mentioned it. The end of the exhibit came suddenly and they were spilled into the adjoined gift shop. 

“We lost Jack and Kath,” Spot stated, glancing around them. 

“They’ll find their way sooner or later,” Race said, “C’mon, let’s go look at the Egyptian art.”

“Are you sure we should separate ourselves further from-“

“They’ll find us,” Race pulled out his phone,”I’ll let ‘em know where we went.”

Race led them across the museum to the Egyptian room. As they passed various sarcophagi, Spot clenched his jaw, unease flaring in his gut.

“You alright?” Race asked, squeezing his hand to get his attention.

“Yeah,” Spot said, absently, “S’just ever since I saw that one young Sherlock Holmes movie- ya know the one where they’d mummify people and burn ‘em alive- sarcophoguses, sarcophagi? Whatever the plural is, they freak me out.”

Race threw his head back in laughter, “Ah, m’sorry, dude. We can leave if ya want?”

Spot shook his head, “Nah, I know how much ya like ancient Egyptian stuff.”

“Okay, fair, but we can get outta this room at least,” They entered the main room and Race immediately rushed to enter the Temple of Dendur. 

“Spottie, look at the hieroglyphics,” Race said, impulsively reaching out the hand not holding Spot’s to touch them. 

Spot gently pulled his hand back, “Don’t touch it, Racer. Ever sit through one of Jack’s ‘don’t touch the art’ lectures?”

Race hummed in annoyance and reached into his bag to pull out his fidget cube. 

Spot chuckled, “Ya really are a child.”

“Shut up,” Race said with no real malice behind his words. They continued on through the temple in silence, save for the clicking of Race’s fidget cube. Spot watched Race drink in the details of the ruin, eyes glinting with curiosity and wonder. The longer Spot looked at Race, the more he noticed. Like the way his nose would scrunch up periodically-a tic no doubt- or the way he’d squint his eyes ever so slightly when observing one of the symbols in higher depth. The freckles that usually blended into his complexion were more visible in the bright lighting of the room and his eyes shone brightly behind his glasses. His blonde curls were getting longer, but were carefully mussed to create a careless, yet put together look. He was beautiful, and Spot realized in that moment that he was screwed. He was absolutely screwed.

XXX

They met Jack and Katherine twenty minutes later in the dining hall. They sat and made easy conversation while they ate. Jack was hunched over his sketchbook, biting his lip in concentration as he put details onto an almost exact drawing replica of one of Tintoretto’s portraits.

“I don’t understand,” Race said, taking a bite of his salad, “You managed to basically recreate his painting. Like, the painted look, with fuckin’ pencil.”

Jack shrugged, “S’all about shadin’, my brother. ‘Sides, this is jus’ a draft. I’ma do it with actual paint later.”

Spot choked on his apple juice, “That’s a fuckin’ draft? Jesus Christ, dude.”

Jack closed his sketchbook and stowed it into Katherine’s bag, “Y’all hover too much.”

They all laughed and continued to eat their lunch, until Katherine kicked Race under the table.

“Check your phone. Someone’s been spamming you, I can feel it buzzing.”

Race flipped his phone over on the table and blanched. He swallowed thickly and placed down his fork with shaky hands. 

“Race?” Spot asked, feeling thoroughly unsettled. Only one person could have caused Race to react like that.

Race didn’t answer as he swiped into his messages and began reading. His hands getting steadily shakier until it was a wonder how he could still read the screen. 

“Race, what’s going on?” Katherine asked, reaching across the table to place a hand on his arm. Race jerked away from her touch and clicked off his phone. He closed his eyes and Spot could tell he was trying to regulate his breathing. 

Spot turned his body so his was facing Race, “Do you want to step out?” Race nodded, opening his eyes to reveal barely held back tears.

Spot stood and picked up Race’s bag, then turned to Jack and Katherine, who looked incredibly concerned and slightly frightened, “We’ll be back.”

He lead Race out of the room without waiting for an answer. As soon as they were out, they ducked into a hallway that was mostly empty, save for a few vending machines and a water fountain. Race leaned against the wall, crossing his arms at his chest tightly. His breaths were gaining speed and Spot stepped forward to help him before his could fully freak out.

“Race, take deep breaths, c’mon,” Race whimpered, but began trying to suck in deeper breaths. Spot counted for him, something he’d read online since the first time he’d witnessed Race panic. It didn’t take long for Race to calm his breathing, but tears were still streaming down his face.

“S-she drunk texted me, earlier” He began, breath hitching, “S-she was beggin’ me ta g-go back. But I didn’t answer, cuz I didn’t wanna. A-and then jus’ now she texted me. Real mad, cuz I didn’t answer. She f-fuckin’ burned my ballet shoes, Spot. I thought I packed ‘em. But, I guess I didn’t and now they’re g-gone. My fuckin’ gramma gave ‘em ta me, Sean!” He leaned into Spot, who wrapped his arms around him tightly.

“Deep breaths, man,” He murmured, rubbing a hand up and down Race’s back, “I’m gonna fuckin’ end her.” He said more to himself. Race took a few more shaky breaths and pulled himself away from Spot. He scrubbed at his face with the back of his wrist.

“I’m gonna go wash up, I’ll meetcha back at the table,” Race said, voice tired.

“Jack and Kath are gonna ask questions.”

“Tell ‘em about that asshole, I don’t fuckin’ give a shit anymore,” Race snapped, then rounded the corner to go to the bathroom down the hall.

Spot took a moment to shake the anger out of his system, then walked back to their table in the dining hall.

“Where’d Race go?” Jack asked as soon as Spot sat down.

“He went to go wash up,” Spot sighed.

“What happened?” Katherine asked, “If he’s comfortable with you sharing, that is.”

Spot steeled himself, “Those texts were from Melissa.”

“Melissa? As in his girlfriend, Melissa?” Jack pushed.

“Yeah. He uh...well, she’d been, uh, abusin’ him for awhile,” Katherine gasped and Spot could see Jack’s eyes widen, “He didn’t tell no one ‘til he finally snapped and came to my place. S’why he’s been with me lately. But yeah, so jus’ now she texted him, drunk I might add, to tell him she burned his fuckin’ ballet shoes- ya know the ones.”

Jack and Katherine stared at him speechless. Katherine shook her head, “I wish we had realized. My god, that poor thing.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty traumatized I think. He’s talked about it some, but I dunno. He’s goin’ through it,” Spot took a deep breath, “Anyway, I’ma give it another minute and if he’s not back, I’ma go check on him.”

They lapsed into an uncomfortable quiet. A minute later, Spot was just about to go check in on Race, when he walked back up to the table and slumped back into his chair.

“Race, we-” Jack started.

Race shook his head, “I don’t want apologies. I appreciate it, though.”

Katherine nodded in understanding, “We’re still here for you. Who else knows?”

“Al and Finch. Can we drop it?” 

Spot, Jack, and Katherine all voiced their agreement and cleared their lunch trays, then they made their way to the exit. They said their goodbyes, Jack holding onto Race a little longer than usual before going their separate ways. 

“Hey, can we go to the studio for a bit?” Race asked, slipping into the car and buckling his seatbelt, “I needa clear my head.”

“For sure,” Spot started the car and they drove the short drive to the studio’s location in the city.

“Hey, Race,” Romeo greeted as they walked in, “Hey Spot. Back so soon?”

“Needed to get some stuff offa my mind,” Race said, taking off his jacket, “Do you have an extra pair of sweats or somethin’?” 

Romeo frowned apologetically, “No, I don’t..oh! But Tommy Boy usually does. Go check with him, he’s in the back.” 

Race grunted and walked into the back room, emerging a minute later in a pair of adidas that were slightly baggy on him. 

He looked down at himself, then up at Spot and Romeo, “They work.”

“Nice,” Romeo said, smirking, “Oh yeah, think you could teach a contemporary class this Saturday?”

“Sure,” Race said, plugging his phone into the stereo and flipping through his music.

“Sweet, I’ma see if Al can too. Have ya heard from him? How’s he feelin’?” Romeo asked.

“I haven’t heard from him, but Finch sent out his streaks, so I’m assumin’ he’s still down for the count. Should be good by Saturday, though.” Race said, settling on ‘Broken’ by Lovelytheband and moving to the floor to stretch, “I wanna do choreo for this song, wanna help?”

Romeo nodded and joined him in stretching. Spot took a seat on one of the chairs by the floor and pulled out his phone, immediately beginning to research replacement ballet shoes for Race.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeet yeet. Spot's in loooooove. or almost


	8. Or Sappy Poetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this in a while, I'm sorry y'all but it's Race's birthday whooooo  
> sorry for any grammar fuck ups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: None cuz race deserves a goddamn break

It was way too early on a Saturday morning when a phone call woke Spot up. Race sleepily reached up and pinched Spot’s nipple, sending a jolt through his body. Spot yelped and swatted at Race’s hand, “Don’t do that, asshole.”

“Pick up your goddamn phone,” Race mumbled in response. Spot sighed began to pry himself out of Race’s hold so that he could get his phone, but Race tightened his arms around him.

“You realize that I needa move to get my phone, right?” Spot said into Race’s curls.

Race whined, nestling his head further into Spot’s neck, “No, you’re warm,” the phone stopped ringing and Spot scoffed, “Looks like I’m not moving anyway.”

“Good,” Race hummed, “Back to sleep time- oh my god.”

They both groaned as Spot’s phone began to ring a second time. 

“Jesus, just get your phone,” Race said, rolling off of Spot. Spot propped himself up on his elbow, leaning over to his bedside table to grab his phone. He squinted at the bright screen to see that Albert was calling him.

“Al?” He answered. 

Race snorted behind him, “What does that idiot want?”

“I’m checkin’, Racer,” Spot said, kicking Race in the thigh.

“Rude,” Race grunted.

“You pinched my nipple earlier! We’re even,” Spot exclaimed.

“Uh, hello?” Albert’s voice tentatively called through the speaker, “I’m still here.”

“Yes, hello,” Spot said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, “What do you need? It’s five in the fuckin’ mornin’.”

“Oh, it is?” Albert sounded surprised, “I didn’t even realize.”

“Fuckin’ insomniac.”

“Shut up. Is Race in the room?”

“Yes, dumbass, you heard us talkin’ didn’t ya?”

“Point taken. So now that we’ve established Race’s presence, leave it.”

“Leave his presence?” Spot leaned forward to rest his head on his hand.

“Mhm, we gotta talk about somethin’.”

“Alright,” Spot said, standing up and slipping out of his room, “What’s up.”

“Let me in,” Albert demanded.

“Oh my god, Albert. If I open my door are ya gonna be on the other side?” Spot asked, dreading the answer.

There was a pause on the other end, “Uh, maybe.”

“Jesus, okay, I’m in my underwear. Gimme a sec,” He heard Albert snicker, “Shut up, you literally woke me up. I was sleepin’, which means I was in my sleep clothes.” 

Spot stuck his head back into his bedroom and called out softly to Race, “Hey, couldya pass me my sweats? They should be on the floor by the bed.”

Race kept his eyes closed as he groped around on the floor, eventually tossing Spot a pair of sweatpants. 

“Thanks,” Spot whispered, slipping on the pants. They were several sizes too big for him and he frowned, “Race, you passed me yours.”

“Suffer,” Race said, pulling the blankets tighter around himself.

“Do you two share a bed?” Albert asked.

Spot blushed, “Y-yeah, I mean it’s jus’, uh-”

“Hm, cute,” Albert said, thoughtfully, “Anyway, let me in.”

Spot hurried over to the door and opened it. For a moment, he didn’t see anyone, then someone cleared their throat from the ground.

“You were takin’ too long,” Albert was sitting criss cross on the floor, dressed in a fluffy blue robe. His phone was still pressed to his ear and Spot realized that they were still on call.

Spot smirked as he hung up the phone, peering down at Albert in the darkness, “You’re stupid, what do you want?”

“I needya ta come over,” Albert said, reaching his hands up towards Spot, who took them and hoisted him up, “Race’s birthday is tomorrow and we gotta have somethin’ awesome planned for him.”

Spot rubbed his eyes tiredly, “And we couldn’ta done this over breakfast?”

Albert twitched his nose and shook his head, “It’s really stressin’ me out that we don’t have this planned in final yet and it’s tomorrow. I got an idea, but I need your opinion.”

Spot knew better than to argue with Albert when he was stressed, “Alright, I’m comin’. Lemme jus’ go tell Race I’ma be gone for a bit.”

Albert studied him for a moment, an odd look in his eyes, “Spot?”

Spot shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, “Uh, what.”

“Do you,” Albert lowered his voice to a whisper, “Do you have, uh, feelings for Racer?”

Spot sputtered, heat rushing to his face, “I dunno, uh, maybe? I dunno. I mean I know it’s wrong cuz he’s still so fucked up from Melissa, but-”

“Hey, whoa,” Albert held his hands up, effectively stopping Spot from rambling, “It’s fine, man, I was just wondering.”

Spot pursed his lips, glancing behind him towards his bedroom, “I’m fucked, dude.”

Albert smiled softly, “You’re really good to him, ya know? Like since all this shit’s gone down with that bitch, you’ve really kept him upright. He’s told me that.”

Spot blinked at Albert in surprise, “He has?”

“Yeah, dude, he said that despite everything else, you’re probably one of the best things in his life right now. Romantic or whatever, he loves you a lot.”

Spot looked down to hide the smile that was growing on his face, “I’ll be right back, dude.”

“Aight,” Albert pulled out his phone and leaned against the doorframe, waving Spot off.

Spot padded over to his bedroom and opened the door, “Hey, Racer, Al needs help with somethin’ so I’ma go over to his place for a bit.”

 

Race lifted his head to look at Spot, concern etched across his face, “Is he okay?” 

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Spot said, nonchalantly, “I’ll see ya later.”

“See ya.” Spot carefully closed the door and grabbed his sweatshirt off its hook, pulling it over his head as he followed Albert out of his apartment. They walked the short distance across the hall to Albert and Finch’s place, entering quietly so they wouldn’t wake Finch.

“I’ll make some coffee,” Albert whispered, disappearing into his kitchen. Spot wandered to the living room, taking a seat on one end of the couch. Albert reappeared a few minutes later, holding two mugs. He handed one to Spot, who took a sip, wincing slightly when the hot liquid hit his tongue.

“It’s hot, dude, be careful,” Albert laughed.  
Spot glared at him over his mug, “No shit.”

They both looked over to Albert’s bedroom when the door opened and Finch stuck his head out, squinting at his boyfriend, “Albert, baby? Have you been up all this time?” 

Albert slurped his coffee loudly, “Couldn’t sleep.”  
“Oh, love,” Finch softened, “C’mon, you need- oh, hi Spot.” Finch startled slightly when he noticed Spot. 

Spot saluted him lazily and offered him a tired smile, “Hey, Finch.”

“What’re you two doing?”

“Planning Race’s birthday tomorrow, apparently,” Spot said.

Finch strolled over and sat in between them on the couch. Albert immediately curled into his side and Finch began to smooth a hand through his hair.

“Ooo, I’ll plan with y’all,” Finch said, planting a kiss on Albert’s head.

“Awesome, so,” Albert clapped his hands together, “I was thinkin’ a dinner cruise on the Hudson.”

Spot choked on his coffee, “You do realize how expensive that shit is, right? Plus it’s like, twenty degrees outside.”

“No, no,” Albert sat up and tucked his legs under him, “I’ve already done my research, listen. So, the dinner cruises for one night with this one company I looked at are $150 for a party of six, with an additional $25 per added members. If the three of us, Race, Jack, Kath, Davey, and Crutchie go, that’d be $200. Split that between everyone ‘cept Race, ‘cause he ain’t payin’ on his birthday, that’s only $28 ish a person. Totally doable.”

Spot raised his eyebrows, “Man, you really did do your research. Aight, I’m down. What time does the cruise leave? Do we still gotta invite the others?”

“The cruise leaves at 7:00 tomorrow night and goes ‘til 9:30. It includes, like, a three course meal and there’s live entertainment and whatnot. I already asked Jack and Kath if they’re in and they said yeah, but I still gotta reach out to Davey and Crutchie.”

“It’s always a little unnervin’ when ya suddenly take on responsibility,” Finch said.

Albert shrugged, “Stress is a drivin’ force, pal. I just want it to be a good one for him, he’s had a rough time lately, so I figure he could use some spoilin’.”

“This is actually a really fun idea,” Spot said, pulling out his phone, “I’ll hit up Crutch and Davey.”

“I’m already on it,” Finch said, holding up his phone to reveal texts sent to the two other men.

“Lovely,” Albert said, grinning, “Good work, boys.”

XXX

Spot got up earlier than Race again the next day to make him a birthday breakfast. The day before, he had gone to World Market and picked various Italian breakfast foods, enlisting Katherine’s help in the actual preparation.

He set the table with the various pastries, breads, jams, and cookies that he had selected, then slipped back into his bedroom.

Spot was surprised to see that Race was already awake and on his phone. He looked up when Spot entered and smiled, “Mornin’, Spottie.”

“Mornin’ Racer,” Spot slipped back into the bed and tugged on Race’s bicep. Race melted into his arms and yawned, “Happy birthday, gremlin.”

“Thanks,” Race hummed happily. They remained in that position for a few more minutes, until Spot heard Race’s stomach rumble. 

“You hungry?” He chuckled.

“A bit.”

“C’mon,” Spot said, getting up and pulling Race out of bed, “I got breakfast.”

Race’s eyes widened as he took in the wide array of food that was set out on the table, “Merda santa,” He murmured, “Is that fette biscottate? Spot, oh my god, this is amazin’!”

He stuffed a roll in his mouth, then eagerly grabbed a plate and loaded it with small bits of everything on the table. Spot laughed and joined him in taking food, sitting down across from him.

“Enjoyin’ it?” Spot asked.

“So much,” Race answered with his mouth full, “Thank ya, this is great.”

XXX

They were supposed to meet everyone else at Chelsea Piers around 6:30 to board. Race had no idea that they had planned this for him, so when Spot told him to get his shoes on and follow him to his car, he was thoroughly confused.

“Where are we going?” Race asked for what had to be the hundredth time since they’d left Spot’s apartment complex.

“I told ya that you’ll see,” Spot said, calmly.

Race groaned and slid lower into his seat, propping his feet up on the dash, “Spottieeeee, c’mon, I’m impatient.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Spot said, “Put your feet down.”

Raced huffed and lowered his feet to the car floor, “You’re no fun.”

“Okay, Race.”

They arrived at the dock at 6:20 to find everyone already there. Albert waved them over to the ticket station and pulled Race into a hug, “Happy birthday, man.”

“Thanks,” Race grinned, “What is all this?”

“Dinner cruise,” Finch piped up, “Albert’s idea.”

“Awe, man,” Race gripped Albert’s shoulder affectionately, “Thanks so much.”

“Least we could do for ya on the big 22,” Albert said, clapping Race on the back.

“We’d better get moving,” Davey said, fishing a wad of tickets from his pocket and distributing them to everyone, “It looks like people are getting on.”

They boarded the ship in pairs, eventually coming together as a whole group once they entered the main room. The inside of the ship was decently large and elegant. Tables lined the large glass walls and a cozy looking fireplace was located at one end of the room. On the other end, a stage and dance floor were set up and a band was already playing music, adding to the pleasant atmosphere. Albert had booked two tables for the group and they located them near the stage. 

“I’m so excited for food, man,” Race said, rubbing his hands together as he, Spot, Albert, and Finch sat down at one of the tables.

“Well, you’re in luck then,” Spot said as a waiter walked up to take their drink orders. 

“They serve duck?” Race asked, eyes wide as he stared at the menu. 

Spot looked down at his own menu and scoffed when he saw that duck was indeed and option on the appetizer menu, “Looks like it is. Why? Do ya like duck or somethin’?”

“I dunno, but I’ve always wanted ta try it.”

“Then order some god forsaken duck,” Albert said, taking a sip of the Sprite the waiter had just brought for him.

“Mayhaps I shall,” Race said, thoughtfully.

Finch cocked his eyes, eyebrows quirking up slightly, “Mayhaps?”

“It’s a word,” Race said, matter of factly.

Spot looked sideways at him, “It definitely isn’t.”

“Well, it is in my book, so hop of my dick. It’s my birthday.”

“He has a point.”

 

“Shut up, Al.”

The waiter returned to take their meal orders, depositing a basket of bread on the table in the process. Race immediately grabbed one of the butter packets and opened it, popping the slab of butter in his mouth.

“Race, what the fuck,” Spot said, taking a roll for himself.

Race wrinkled his nose, “Yeah, I dunno why I did that, that was disgustin’.”

“Race,” Jack called from the table behind them, “Didya just eat a whole butter package?”

“Uh, maybe.”

“Fuckin’ wild.”

The ship departed the dock at 7:00 exactly, the appetizers arriving not much later. Race eagerly pulled his plate towards him, taking a large bite.

“What the fuck, it’s cold,” He said, gagging slightly, “And really salty.”

“Yeah,” Finch said, trying to hold back laughter, “Duck is usually served cold.”

“Well I didn’t know that, now did I?”

The rest of their meal came out one by one and by 8:00 everyone was finished and feeling thoroughly full. The dance floor was beginning to fill up with other passengers as the band picked up the tempo in their songs. 

Race and Albert perked up when the band began playing ‘Take Me to Church’ by Hozier and before anyone could process what was happening, the two of them had run onto the dance floor. They immediately drew attention to themselves as they dove into pre-rehearsed choreography. A small crowd started to watch them as they continued to dance and eventually a circle of impressed onlookers had formed. The song finished and applause erupted from mass of people. Albert and Race high fived, panting slightly as the adrenaline from their spontaneous performance wore off. 

“Looks good you two,” Spot praised, approaching the two boys from his place at the edge of the dance floor.

“Thanks, we’ve been workin’ at it for some time,” Race said, lifting his shirt to wipe some sweat off his forehead. 

The crowd dispersed as the band began to play a slow song and couples slowly started to fill the dance floor. Albert darted off to find Finch, leaving Spot and Race standing awkwardly in the middle of the dance floor. 

“Should we go, uh, sit down?” Race asked, twisting his fingers together.

“Actually, hang on” Spot hurried back to their table and grabbed his bag from the back of his chair, then rejoined Race, “While everyone’s distracted with their people, I wanna give ya your present. C’mon.”

Race’s eyes widened, “Spot, ya didn’t hafta get me anythin’-”

“Shut up, yes I did,” Spot led them towards the doors that opened to the ship’s balcony. The slipped outside, immediately drawing their shoulders up as cold wind swept across the deck. They found refuge in a small outdoor seating area and sat down beside one another on a deck chair.

“Here,” Spot dug a small package out of his bag and handed it to Race, “I gotcha these after Melissa ruined your last pair.”

Race stared down at the package for a moment, before cautiously opening it, “Spot, you didn’t…” he murmured, taking a pair of new ballet shoes out of the box and holding them up to the light.

Spot smiled, sheepishly, “I know they’re not anywhere near as special as your last pair, but I figured it was the least I could do.”

“No, Spot,” Race muttered, “They’re perfect.” He shook his head and breathed out a small laugh, turning the shoes over a few more times in his hands before placing them back in their casing.

He turned to Spot, a look of admiration on his face, “Thank you, I-” He cut himself off, his expression shifting into something new and unreadable. Spot furrowed his eyebrows in concern and was just about to ask if he was okay when he felt a pair of lips meet his. He froze for a moment then melted into the kiss, lifting a hand to tangle in Race’s curls. The world seemed to stop as warmth spread throughout Spot’s stomach and he had to remind himself to keep breathing as Race’s grip on him tightened. 

Race deepened the kiss and Spot pulled back just enough so that he could search Race’s eyes, “Are we gonna talk about this?” He whispered.

“We’re gonna hafta, but goddamnit let me just kiss you right now,” Race said, pulling Spot in by the front of his shirt.

“Sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow so that happened


	9. Breaking Your Back for Someone Else’s sake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short chap cuz it’s basically jus Race’s abuse story so plz read warnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse. be careful   
> Editing: minimal YOTE

Race and Spot laid tangled together on their bed. It was two days after Race’s birthday, and subsequently, the kiss they had shared on the ship. They had yet to discuss what exactly was happening between them, but they had silently agreed to allow some time to simply enjoy each other’s intimacy. Cuddling at night and around the house took on a whole new energy, and even now, as Race shifted around in his place in between Spot’s legs, his back pressed against Spot’s chest as they scrolled through their phones in comfortable silence, occasional kisses were being exchanged. The peace was broken when Race clicked off his phone and chucked it sluggishly onto the floor. Spot flicked his eyes away from his email app, where he had been checking his work schedule, and peered down at Race, who was twisting his fingers. Spot could practically feel anxious energy emanating off of the taller man in waves, and he casually moved the arm that had been draped across his middle off of him to allow him space. 

“What’s up?” He asked carefully, also clicking off his phone and placing it on his bedside table. 

He could see Race scrunching his nose periodically, a clear sign that he was in deep thought. He felt him take a deep breath, “I, uh, I wanna talk to ya about….I think I’m ready,” He said in a small voice.

Spot furrowed his brows, “Talk about…” he hesitated, “The other night?”

Race shook his head, then shrugged, “Yeah, I mean, I guess that ties into it, but that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“Melissa,” Spot felt his breath catch in his throat, “I’m ready ta talk about what happened.”

Spot nodded, “Share however much or little ya need,” he pressed an encouraging kiss to the top of Race’s head, “And stop if ya need to,” he added. Race didn’t say anything for another minute or so and Spot waited patiently.

“At first, she was perfect. Beautiful, smart, interested in the same things as me. I felt like I could be myself around her. We were a power duo, ya know,” he paused, swallowing, “I guess the first red flags were pretty minor things. Well, I don’t wanna say minor, but they hid themselves. I didn’t realize what she was doin’ was unhealthy ‘til it was too late.”

Spot hummed, listening closely, but not saying anything. Race continued, “She’d, uh, like get mad at me, right? And usually it was because I actually did somethin’ shitty, I realize that. I’d take her anger and harsh words and I’d let her be mad at me, because that’s how ya move past things. Ya get it outta your system, then work it out. I took the blame for things I deserved, but she couldn’t be bothered to do the same. If she did somethin’ wrong and I’d bring it up, she’d twist it around to be my fault. And suddenly, I was the one apologizin’ for being mad at all. I was in a constant state of guilt. I was scared to be mad at her, because I knew I would have to shoulder the blame. When I finally did bring it up, she cried for hours about how horrible she was and suddenly, again, I was the one comfortin’ her for something she did to me. It was suffocating.”

Race was speaking in a lifeless, almost monotone voice and Spot was surprised at how well he was keeping it together. It seemed as though he was detaching from himself in order to recount what he’d been through. 

“Then there was the humiliation shit. Anytime we were around a new group of people, or even her friends, she’d bring up shit stories about embarrassing shit I’d done or things about me I’d rather people not know. I tried to tell her to stop, but then she’d jus’ tell me I was bein’ sensitive and I’d hafta bite my fuckin’ lip. It frustrated me ta no end. Also, oh fuckin’ also,” his voice turned malicious as he spoke, “She was fuckin’ awful about my ADHD. Like, she had no patience for my shit and when I’d get overwhelmed she’d fuckin’ leave me to rot. Or-or if I didn’t take my meds? God, she’d fuckin’ snap at everything I did. I think she was embarrassed, but-” he cut himself off shaking his head, “Anyway, it started gettin’ really bad around last Winter.”

Spot tensed his shoulders in anticipation. He had a feeling he knew what was coming, but he still didn’t want to hear it.

“We were fightin’ every week- constantly goin’ ta bed angry. Shoutin’ at one another, or more like, her shoutin’ and me tryna reason. It was exhaustin’. But then, one night,” Race’s voice wavered and he took a moment to compose himself, “One night she had this fuckin’ sick idea that we’d fuck away our problems. I agreed ‘cause I was too tired not ta, but as soon as we started, I wanted ta stop. My skin felt like it was burning, I-” his breath hitched and he quickly sat up, moving away from Spot and wrapping his arms around himself. 

Spot watched helplessly, “Racer, if this is too much you can-”

“No,” Race said, voice shaking, “I needa do this, please.”

Spot nodded, biting his lip, “Alright.”

Race looked down at the sheets and heaved a breath, “Our, uh, our fights were replaced with sex. It was almost every night, whether I wanted ta or not. I tried to say no sometimes, but she’d ignore me until I gave in. I was so tired of fightin’ that I jus’ fuckin’ went with it, but this was worse. I was stuck.”

Spot felt anger bubble in his stomach and he bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from lashing out and interrupting Race. 

“I had enough one night and I tried ta walk away while we were…” Race pursed his lips and shook his head, steeling himself, “But she cornered me and slapped me really fuckin’ hard before I could even get my shirt on. I was shocked and she seemed to realize that it gave her leverage. From then on, whenever we disagreed about somethin’, she’d slap me, or flick me, or do somethin’ to get me to stop fightin’ her way. I knew it was bad, but I told myself that she wasn’t outright punchin’ me or nothin’, so it was fine. ‘Sides, I was the guy so-”

“Hey, no, that doesn’t excuse shit,” Spot cut in, “Guy or gal, a hit is a hit.”

Race grimaced, “I know that, Sean, I was jus’ in denial. I dunno. Anyway. it went on like that for a few weeks until, uh, fuck..” his eyes glazed over and he fixed his gaze on a place above Spot’s shoulder. 

Spot felt unease grip at his spine and he sat up ever so slightly, “Racer?”

Race shook his head, eyes focusing again, “Sorry, sorry, uh. So, it went on like that until one night I’d had enough and I tried ta stop her by grabbin’ her wrist and twistin’ it,” he winced, “I hate that I did that, but I was so tired of, uh, yeah. I let go as soon as I’d grabbed her, but he was livid. Started throwin’ things. Got me right in the rib with an iron- I still have the scar.” Race lifted his shirt to reveal a long, white scar right below his left pec, “hurt like a bitch.”

Spot could see Race trembling as he lowered his shirt back down. He ran a hand through his blonde curls and blinked a few times, breathing through his nose, “The slaps never stopped, but now she wasn’t afraid to go harder and I endured it. Kept tellin’ myself that I’d be too much of a burden to ask for help. I started ta think I deserved it. Until that day when she was drunk. Came at me with that broken bottle and somethin’ in me snapped. I was hurtin’ and done and so so tired, I just couldn’t anymore. As soon as she was satisfied with her handywork, I fuckin’ left. And that’s when I came ta you,” he met Spot’s horrified gaze and sighed, “I don’t know why I didn’t jus’ leave as soon as she started bein’ shit, but I was so so lost,” his voice sounded tired and Spot wanted to scream.

“I love you, Spot,” Race choked out, voice thick, “You saved me and I wanna be happy with you, but I’m so fuckin’ scared.”

Spot shook his head, dumbfounded. He searched for the right words as he began to speak, “Race, I know you went through hell. Fuck, I’m gonna end that bastard next chance I get. But as far as we go, just know you are always safe with me.”

“I jus’ don’t know what I’m ready for, yet,” Race said, sniffling, “I wanna be with you, but..”

Spot leaned forward, tapping Race’s chin lightly to get him to look at him, “You’re settin’ the pace here, Racer,” he said softly, “You let me know what you’re ready to do and what you’re not. You let me know what your boundaries are and I swear on the heavens that I’ll stay in them.”

Race’s face crumpled and he pressed a wet kiss to Spot’s lips, who reciprocated it, then pulled him into his chest, “You’re in control, Antonio.”

“Thank fuckin’ God.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was quick but purposeful. next chap we get some relationship development and Spot’s thoughts on everything


	10. It Don’t Much Matter if I Ain’t With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race gets some closure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final chap guys let’s go  
> TW: implied past abuse

“I missed ya most, ya know.”

Spot opened an eye, peering into the blue eyes of his boyfriend? Lover? His Racer.

“What do ya mean?” He whispered back, reaching across the bed and tracing a hand down Race’s jaw, before pulling him closer so that their foreheads were near touching.

Race hummed, accepting the kiss Spot was planting on his nose before answering, “When Melissa went batshit and scared me inta cuttin’ ties with alla you guys, you were the one I missed hangin’ out with most.”

“I missed ya, too.”

Race’s eyes fixed on an area of the wall over Spot’s shoulder, “You were my safe space,” he paused, “Like, even before you were my literal safe space, you were my safe space. Whenever we’d text, or I’d look at old vids or somethin’ of us on my phone, it was like…a weight was lifted.”

Spot smiled faintly, “I’m glad that I could be that for ya.”

Race met his eyes again, “You still are.”

They kissed again, this time deepening it further until Spot could feel the breath leaving his body. Instinctively, he reached a hand down, running his fingers under the hem of Race’s shirt.

Race jerked, pulling away quickly, “Please don’t.”

“Fuck,” Spot breathed, shifting away to give Race room, “I’m so sorry, I totally didn’t-fuck. I’m so sorry.”

Race shook his head, swallowing thickly, “No, it’s okay. I’m jus’ not quite...there yet.”

Spot shook his head, “No, no, of course. You don’t gotta justify your reasonin’ ever. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Race took a measured breath, rolling back into Spot’s arms and allowing his fingers to walk over his chest. Spot watched him, mind wandering aimlessly through the events of the past few weeks. It seemed like an eternity ago that Race knocked at his door, bloody, bruised, and scared. They’d come so unfathomably far since that fateful night and while Spot wished it were under different circumstances, he thanked his lucky stars that he was able to hold Race as closely as he was now. 

“I love you,” He blurted out, the words that he’d uttered so many times to the other man sounding foreign on his tongue. A new, tentative feeling bubbled in his stomach as he mulled over the words. 

Race looked up at him, confusion echoing in his gaze, “I love ya, too.”

“No,” Spot said, feeling slightly overwhelmed, “I..I , like, actually love you. Like, I’m in love with you.”

Race blinked, not speaking for a moment and Spot wondered briefly if he’d gone too far, too fast. 

Then Race breathed out a laugh- a beautiful sound that Spot loved so much. 

“I’m in love with ya, too, Sean.”

They wore matching smiles, words abandoned as they drank in each other’s beauty and warmth.

XXX

“Melissa and I spoke.”

Spot immediately tensed when Race spoke, inadvertently prepping himself for a fight. 

“Relax,” Race sighed, sinking into the couch next to Spot, “I called her, it’s fine.”

Spot’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “You called her?” He asked, disbelief dripping in his tone. 

Race nodded and Spot shook his head, dumbfounded, “Why?”

Race thought for a moment, eyes drifting away from Spot’s and landing on the blank TV screen. 

“I need closure,” He started slowly, “I don’t wanna shitty apology, so I’m not tryna ask for that and I don’t entirely wanna see her, but I needa end things for real,” He paused, still not looking at Spot, “‘Cause as awful as she is, we’re not technically broken up and I can’t relax with ya until we are.”

Spot nodded, processing Race’s words, “Yeah, makes sense.”

Race hummed, habitually checking the time on his phone. 

“When are ya gonna meet up?” Spot asked. 

“A ‘lil later today.”

“Are ya feelin’ okay about it?”

Race shrugged, leaning into Spot’s side with a shaky sigh, “Not really, but I don’t think I ever will,” he began fiddling with the seam of Spot’s sleeve, “I jus’ needa do it.”

Spot carded a hand through Race’s hair, “Do you want me to come with you?”

Race shook his head, “Not to talk ta her at least,” he tilted his head back to look at Spot, “But maybe couldya drive me? And wait in the car?”

Spot smiled comfortingly, “Of course.”

XXX

Race didn’t speak on the car drive to the coffee shop he and Melissa had agreed to meet at. His mind was too preoccupied with anticipation for any of his thought to be coherent enough to express. 

Although he masked it for Race’s sake, Spot was worried. It felt like he was handing the meal to the monster, putting Race right back into the clutches of his abuser. But it was Race’s choice to do this. If he wanted closure, he had every right to get it. 

They arrived in the parking lot and Spot pulled into a spot right by the entrance. Race unbuckled, but made no move to get out, eyes wide behind his glasses as he scanned the inside of the shop. 

Spot looked too, immediately spotting Melissa sitting at the counter by the window, coffee in hand. 

“You don’t hafta do this,” Spot murmured, “You don’t owe her anything.”

“I know,” Race’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat, “I gotta, though,” he took a deep breath, steeling himself as he got out of the car, closing it with more force than necessary as he convinced himself to follow through with his plan. 

Spot watched him walk inside, mock confidence in his stride. He didn’t get a coffee. Instead, he walked straight to Melissa, staying a small distance away as they spoke. 

Much to Spot’s surprise, Race seemed to be doing most of the talking, and as the conversation progressed, he seemed to be getting angrier. His arms were gesturing wildly, occasionally waving in Spot’s general direction. 

Spot smiled, a strange sense of pride washing over him. It felt good knowing that he’d earned Race’s trust and love and was doing better than Melissa ever had with it. 

Their apparent conversation was over as quickly as it had started, and soon enough, Race was exiting the coffee shop, a legitimate bounce in his step. He climbed back into the car, letting a relieved breath out as he buckled up again. Without hesitation, he leaned over and pulled Spot into a searing kiss, deepening it for a moment, before pulling back. 

Spot laughed, raising his eyebrows at Race, “What the hell happened in there?”

Race shrugged, cockiness returning at full volume, “I jus’ told her that she was pitiful and awful for treatin’ me the way she did and then I told her a little bit about you and how you’re a million times better than she ever was.”

Warmth spread through Spot’s chest and he placed a loving hand on Race’s knee as they pulled out of the parking lot. 

“Feel better?”

Race nodded, “Much.”

XXX

The apartment seemed to shine in a new light when they returned. A weird, new energy surrounded the place as Spot and Race collapsed onto the couch, finding their way into each other’s arms again. 

Race still had a ways to go before he was okay, but he was getting there little steps at a time. Spot had vowed from the beginning of their friendship to see Race through everything, and he meant it. 

“Hey, uh, Race?” Spot asked, tentatively. 

Race looked up at him, blue eyes as piercing as ever, “Hm?”

“Now that, uh, now that she’s mostly taken care of,” Spot tightened his hold around Race, “Can I call ya my boyfriend now?”

Race smiled a goofy, full grin that reached every corner of his face, “Yeah, Spot, you can call me your boyfriend now. Can I call ya mine?”

Spot leaned down, kissing him deeply, “Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this gon be a lil long but wow. Finally wrapped up that sucker. I impulse wrote the first chapter of this in the summer, not intending it to go anywhere. but it grew into something that i never could have imagined and i’m feeling bittersweet as it comes to a close. everyone who’s read and left comments and unknowingly driven me to write the next chapter are stars and i love you guys thank you so much. holy wow i finished my first multichapter fic! 
> 
> thank you all immensely again. love y’all
> 
> Mikey out :)


End file.
